“I hear Lord Gorgen has offered you a deal,” Semus said, his voice soft despite the fact that they were alone in the garden.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to take it?”
Ara frowned. “I don’t know.”
Didn’t he though? The castle offered comfort and protection from the violent world outside. From the Highfather and the bloodhounds and a life locked in the Temple dungeon. Was there any reason not to accept?
Semus scratched the back of his tan neck, his face wrinkled like he was wrestling with a thought. When he spoke, his voice so soft Ara strained to hear over the waterfall. “I know what Briton gave up to help you, and though I may not understand it, he must have had his reasons. He’s a much smarter man than I am.” Semus glanced around the garden, his voice dropping even lower. “All I gotta say is if you’re planning on leaving…don’t tell Gorgen. Don’t tell anyone. Just go.”
Semus grunted and threw his shovel over his shoulder. “You see Briton again, you tell him old Semus is doing right.” With that, the gardener ducked his head and walked out of the garden.
Ara stood alone beside the dying blood rose. Beyond him rose the great castle built into the cliff. It was filled with the well-dressed and well-fed; people immune to the problems of the world. Like the serene waterfall cascading down its side, this place was out of touch with the violence below.
But Ara couldn’t forget the cruelty of the world. It was the only memory he had.
30
She was first in line for the night’s blood draw. She was tired from the day’s work, but her body tensed fully awake when the Curor’s door swung open. The guard grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the cold dark room.
“Ah,” the Curor said with a smile, his eyes wide as moons. “Excited to get started are we?”
The girl didn’t move. Her legs had stopped, not wanting to go into the chilly lab. A guard shoved her forward.
“They go through this procedure every night and still, every night they fight it,” the Curor said, shaking his head. “Do they really think we could forget about them? Or decide we have enough blood?” He wiped a blade with an old rag. “There is no such thing as enough blood.”
The girl climbed into the chair. It was better to turn the mind off for this part, to simply move through the steps. It made the process easier. It made life easier.
“You know, I think you’re old enough now,” the Curor said. He untangled a foggy tube and placed one end in a new jar. “Old enough to start making Descendants for your lord.”
The guard strapped the girl’s wrists to the chair. “I’m sure her fellow Descendants will be happy at the news,” he said. Then he ran his dirty fingers through her perfectly yellow hair. “Then again, the bloodline is already so diluted…”
“Hold her still,” the Curor said. He gripped the blade and pulled up the girl’s sleeve.
She closed her eyes and imagined she was home. Back before all this. Before the castle and the auction. When she had a family. It hadn’t been that long ago yet she struggled to remember those days. Each day erased her mother’s face more and more. Each day she became less a person and more a vessel for blood.
The blade descended; the girl closed her eyes and tensed her arm. Then a commotion erupted in the hall outside, voices arguing. The sound of metal being struck.
“What was that?” the Curor asked, leaning back from his work.
“Bloody animals,” the guard drew a wooden club. “I’ll teach them a lesson they’ll never forget.”
He stormed to the door and flung it open.
“Alright you—” Crack! A shovel smashed into the guard’s head. The metal clang was so loud the girl tried to cover her ears, but her hands were fastened to the chair. The guard collapsed to the floor.
“Great Hemo,” the Curor yelped.
The new boy, the one who’s bath she had filled the previous night, stood in the doorway, a shovel in his hands. “It’s alright now,” the boy said to her.
“You!” the Curor spat. “Gorgen’s new pet. You’ll pay for this. I warned Gorgen about playing his games with a filthy Descendant. Now you’ll get what’s coming to you.”
Three Descendants stepped past the boy and into the lab. Their angry eyes were fixed on the Curor.
“Get back,” the Curor shouted. “All of you. Get back right now.”
The girl couldn’t believe they would dare attack a dry blood. Earlier that day, Kainen had received ten lashes for spilling wine in Lord Gorgen’s presence. What would they do when they found a Descendant had struck a guard and threatened the Curor!
But the men didn’t seem to care. They stepped over the guard’s body. The Curor staggered back, holding out the blade; it suddenly seemed so small. “I’ll see you hanged. Every last one of you.”
The Descendants didn’t flinch. The Curor swung the blade twice then dropped it, covering himself against their blows. He let out screams of pain as they struck him again and again. Years of anger and pain put into each swing.
“Don’t look.” The boy was at her side, untying her wrists from the chair. But she did look. She listened to his bones snap, watched their heavy boots stomp the Curor’s red robes brown.
“Come on,” the boy said. “It’s time to go.”
“Go?” She looked at him, confused. “Go where?”
“Somewhere they can’t hurt you.”
Who was this boy? He was a Descendant who had been treated like royalty, who then turned around and beat a castle guard. Now he was talking about leaving. It didn’t make sense.
She took the boy’s outstretched hand and he led her out of the Curor’s lab. Behind them, the Descendants started in on the guard.
“We have to hurry,” Ara said to the gathered Descendants. Some paced at the door to the barracks jumping at every sound, while others sat on beds as if they couldn’t be bothered. Ara had thought he was doing an honorable thing by not leaving without them—one person had far better odds of sneaking out of a castle than twelve. A few of the Descendants had been quick to join him, realizing it was their best chance of escaping. But not everyone saw it that way.
“Why should we listen to you?” a man said, looking at Ara from his bed. “We don’t know you, and there’s a lot worse than Castle Gorgen. I can assure you.”
“The choice shouldn’t be where to serve your captivity,” Ara said. He couldn’t believe his ears. He was offering them a chance at freedom. What was there to debate?
“He’s right,” said a younger man at the door. He held the guard’s sword and kept a lookout for anyone coming. “This is our shot at freedom. We should take it.”
“Somebody’s been fed too many rebellion stories,” a woman said. “You’re going to get us all whipped, or worse. I’ll have no part in it.”
The argument went back and forth with voices growing louder. Each moment they wasted decreased their chances.
“How are we going to escape?” another man asked. “Taking down the Curor and a few guards is one thing. But Gorgen has an army of soldiers protecting this castle. There’s no way we can get through them.”
Everyone turned to Ara, waiting for orders, waiting to be told what to do. They’d been trained with fear their whole lives. Now they were like dogs who wouldn’t venture out even with their leashes removed.
“They protect the castle from the outside,” Ara said. “Their force is focused on the gate because it is the only way in. But it is not the only way out.”
“The cliff?” someone said. “You’re crazy.”
“It would take days to scale,” another added. “If it could be done at all.”
“We’re not going up the cliff,” Ara said. “We’re going down the waterfall.”
The room fell silent. The Descendants exchanged looks of disbelief.
“We’ll drown.”
“It’s possible,” Ara said. “But if it’s a chance at freedom, I’m taking it. By the time they realize what’s happened, the river will have
carried us far away.”
“If we don’t drown first.”
Ara nodded. “If we don’t drown first.”
They still weren’t convinced. They had never lived outside castle walls, never felt the power of their blood when it was not seized from them. The world outside these gates was unknown, and it scared them more than a whipping or the Curor’s blade.
“I’m not telling anyone what to do,” Ara said. “You don’t know me and you may not trust me. But you were all meant to do more in this life than carry dishes and give up your blood to make them rich. And this is your chance.”
His words hung in the air. The gravity of their situation was hitting everyone. Ara was about to turn and leave on his own when a small voice spoke up.
“I’m going.” It was the girl with golden hair. She stood and walked to Ara’s side. “I’m going with you.”
“Me, too.” Ara recognized the Descendant who had served him lunch earlier that day. He slowly climbed to his feet, wincing as he stood up straight. “I don’t know if I’ll survive the jump, but I know I don’t want to survive here any longer.”
After these two, the others followed. Out of the eleven Descendants, only two stayed behind. The rest put their lives in Ara’s hands. He hoped he was doing the right thing.
The night was still and quiet. The moon bathed the castle grounds in a ghostly light. Ara ran from the barracks and the Descendants followed. It was a short distance to the back wall. As they drew close, the powerful sound of the waterfall made Ara’s stomach tighten. This plan had worked in his head, but hearing the waterfall’s thundering force up close was another thing altogether. Ara hid his fear and gave a reassuring nod, pointing to a tree along the castle wall. “We go over here.”
Ara expected to hear the ring of alarm bells and shouts of pursuing guards. But there was only the thunder of the waterfall. Ara jumped up and caught the first tree branch, pulling himself up. The girl was hoisted up next, and he pulled her beside him. They climbed to an upper limb, the tree bowing under their weight, and crawled onto the castle’s outer wall. Ara scooted down the wall’s narrow width to make room for the others. Water sprayed around him in a mist, soaking his clothes. He wiped the water from his face and looked down. The waterfall cascaded down the cliff face into the darkness below. The fear of drowning returned; Ara pushed the thought from his mind. Be strong for them.
Soon everyone was on the wall, huddling against the blast of cold water. Nothing Ara said would be heard over the roar of the waterfall. This was just as well; he had nothing to say.
Ara stood, balancing on the slippery stone wall. Beside him, the girl took his hand. He squeezed it tight, and together they leaped out into the waterfall.
Twice now Ara had escaped by jumping to his possible death. This time he did not lose consciousness. Ara held onto the girl’s hand as long as he could, pushed down, tumbling in the waterfall’s grasp. The impact was hard and abrupt. It tore them apart and spun Ara end over end. What air was left in his lungs exploded from his body. Still, he did not lose consciousness, nor did he panic or fight. He gave in and let the water take him. Even as his body was thrown against rocks, he felt a kind of peace; this struggle would soon end. It was then that he understood the true power of his blood. That every moment, no matter how painful, was temporary.
Pain had no more control over him.
Ara broke the surface and gasped for air. As he breathed, his head whirled around searching for others. The ferocity of the water had subsided. Ten feet away, Ara found the golden hair floating on the surface. He kicked his feet and swam to the girl. He pulled her head above water; she gasped, flailing her arms.
“Relax,” he said, holding on to her. “It’s over. It’s over.”
Her frantic strokes slowed, and she caught her breath. Ara turned up the river, squinting into the thick, silvery mist at the base of the waterfall. At first, he didn’t see anyone. Then heads began to pop out of the water, gasping for air. Nine in all.
Ara couldn’t help but smile. They had followed him. Every one of them.
After they came together and everyone was accounted for, the group paddled on in silence. They stayed to the middle of the river, letting the waters carry them away from Castle Gorgen towards whatever lay ahead.
31
The carriage bounced up and down, increasing Lord Gorgen’s discomfort. He couldn’t believe he was up in the middle of the night in pursuit of ten escaped Descendants—one of whom could very well be the most valuable thing in the world. And his guards had let him slip out of their fingers. How hard was it to look after a boy and some workers?
“Is he trying to hit every bump in the road!” Gorgen yelled loud enough for the carriage driver to hear.
Woodrell, the lord’s advisor, leaned forward in the cramped carriage with a calming look. “It’s a rough road along the river, my Lord. Not built for a carriage.”
“Well, I’m not riding a horse,” Gorgen said. “Those beasts don’t like me. I’m not risking a fall just because our stable master can’t properly train a horse.”
“Of course,” Woodrell said. “Though, I’m surprised you came at all.”
“This boy is important to the future of House Gorgen, Woodrell. After our guards let him escape, I had to see this was done right.”
Woodrell nodded slowly and looked out the carriage window. In the bouncing lantern light, his bald head looked like another moon.
“What is it?” Gorgen asked. He could tell when something was on his advisor’s mind.
“I just can’t help but wonder if this could all have been avoided, had we not played games with the boy.”
“I did what was best to keep him long-term,” Gorgen said. “You know what happened at House Carmine. The boy needed to think he was staying by his own free will if we were to have a chance of keeping him when the Highfather came. I have no idea why he would turn down our offer.”
“Descendants are an untrustworthy bunch.”
The carriage lurched to a stop, and Gorgen hit his head on the lantern hanging from the roof. “Stars! Is this man blind? Did he just run into a boulder?”
“We’ve stopped,” Woodrell stated the obvious. He poked his bald head out the window and into the darkness.
Gorgen groaned and felt his forehead. There would be a bump there, he thought. Just his luck. He’d take it out on his Descendants when he caught them. A lashing they’ll not soon heal from. And the boy…Gorgen had shown him every kindness imaginable, and the cretin had spit in his face. Once he was back at Gorgen Castle, the boy would see what happens to disobedient Descendants.
“What’s going on?” Gorgen asked, still rubbing his head.
“There’s something in the road ahead,” Woodrell reported.
“Did we find them already?” Gorgen’s hopes of returning to his bed rose. Woodrell was right—adventures like this were not suitable for a noble lord. Not even one as brave as himself.
“I don’t think so,” Woodrell said.
“Must I do everything myself?” Gorgen pushed open the carriage door and squeezed out of the tiny structure. Why don’t they make carriages the proper size? Gorgen squinted in the darkness trying to make out the shapes in the trees ahead. Then he realized those weren’t trees. Countless riders blocked their path. The shape of the foremost rider looked all wrong in the moonlight—full of strange black angles. Light shone off the armor of the other men. White armor.
Gorgen was staring at an army of Temple guards.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Gorgen said, storming up the road towards the guards. “Stopping my men in my own realm?”
A rider came forward, he wore the Temple guard’s armor but donned no helmet. Gorgen recognized the braided hair and dark skin. He was one of Bale’s mercenaries. The tracker. Copher wasn’t it? A nasty bunch, all of them. How did the Highfather justify employing such cretins.
“Lord Gorgen,” Copher said. “What brings you out in the dead of night?”
“I…” Gorgen stammered, looking around at his men. Outnumbered, they kept their distance from the Temple guards. “This is my land. I do as I please. What are you doing here? And where’s your boss, the dour fellow?”
Copher’s face might as well have been a stone. “Enough games, Gorgen. Where is the boy?”
Gorgen flinched. “Boy? I don’t know what you’re talking about?”
“You were smart to take the Highfather’s side against Carmine,” Copher said. “Don’t be foolish now.”
Gorgen looked around at his men whose distance from the guard army had increased. Woodrell’s bald head peered from behind the carriage.
“I was going to report the boy to the Highfather,” Gorgen stammered. “But he escaped before I had the chance. Along with nine of my Descendants.”
“Escaped?”
“Earlier this evening,” Gorgen said. “According to the other Descendants, they jumped into the waterfall. But we found no bodies at the base of the cliff so we believe they survived. We are traveling downriver in search of them.”
“Who are these other Descendants?”
“The two who stayed behind,” Gorgen gestured towards the wagon cell. “We already flogged them. If they knew more they would have told us.”
Copher stood tall on his horse, looking back to the wagons like he owned them. “Bring them to me.”
Gorgen snorted. Give a cutthroat a little power and it goes straight to his head. Gorgen considered telling the man to go jump in the river; reminding him of the power of House Gorgen. But it was cold, and he wanted to be back in the comfort of his bed.
He waved to his guards. They hurried to the back of the wagon and brought out the two Descendants. A man and woman. Their skin and clothes were ripped from lashings. A small punishment for their crimes. They hadn’t, after all, stopped the others from escaping.
The guards tossed the two Descendants at Gorgen’s feet. They squirmed and huddled together, hiding their bruised faces.
Good Blood Page 32
