Good Blood

by Billy Ketch Allen

  “Where did the others go?” Copher asked the Descendants.

  “We don’t know,” said the male Descendant, his voice pleading. “We tried to stop them.”

  Copher raised a hand, cutting them off. He sighed and leaped from his horse. The Descendants cowered at the approaching Temple guard. “Please.”

  It happened without warning. Two blades from Copher’s belt. He rammed them into the sides of the Descendant’s head, then squeezed, tunneling deeper into the man’s ears until his skull burst like a watermelon dropped from a castle wall. Blood squirted over those nearby. A chunk of skull landed on Gorgen’s shoe. He vomited into the dirt.

  And he was not alone.

  When the retching stopped, Gorgen wiped his face of vomit and blood. Copher stood over the Descendant woman. Blood covered her trembling face.

  “You know where they went,” Copher said. “The same place you all go when you escape. And you’re going to take us there.”

  The woman nodded frantically.

  “Good,” Copher said.

  The Temple guard looked to Gorgen with a dark smile. “Come, Lord Gorgen. Let’s go for a ride.”

  They had left the river behind hours ago, yet Ara still hadn’t shaken the cold. He stomped his boots as he walked, trying to warm his freezing legs. Ara followed the Descendants along the seemingly endless mountain terrain, his body calling out for rest. He was already second-guessing his decision to leave his warm bed behind.

  “It’s not much farther,” Thoran said. He was an old but still broad-chested man who walked with the confident strut of a former soldier. Though the whispered details of rebel hideouts change with each retelling, in every Descendant barracks and cell in Terene, Thoran claimed to have been there himself. “It’s not much farther,” he repeated to the weary group.

  Ara wasn’t thrilled about seeking out the Descendant rebels; his previous interaction with the group had not gone so well. But these people needed sanctuary, and there was nowhere else to turn. Once he got them to safety, Ara could set off to find his friends. Though he didn’t know where to even begin looking.

  They marched on; Ara fell to the back of the party, walking beside the young girl.

  “You are now free to choose your own name,” Ara said. “If only to give me something to call you.”

  She looked at him but didn’t respond. She spoke little. When faced with the atrocities of Descendant life, silence was often the only appropriate response.

  “It is important to have an identity of your own,” Ara continued as they climbed the mountain path. “You are not someone’s property.”

  After a few more minutes of silent travel, the girl spoke in a soft voice that almost escaped Ara. “What name would I choose?”

  “That’s for you to decide. Something you like. The moonlight…a flower…something that brings to mind your yellow hair.”

  “No,” she said quickly. “Not that.”

  Pain showed like cracks on her face. This poor girl. Ara could only imagine what she had endured at House Gorgen.

  “We’re here,” Thoran called from above.

  The group stopped at the top of the hill; they could see a cluster of small buildings hidden in the valley below. New energy came to the Descendants at the sight of the village and the end of their journey. They hurried down the rocky hill by the light of the moon. Ara felt his own steps increase as well—though he didn’t know what to expect at the hands of the Descendant rebels; he had not only fled from them days earlier but caused a fight with Temple guards. He didn’t foresee a warm welcome.

  Two riders met them at the edge of town. Though it was dark, Ara recognized them from the party of Descendant rebels who had captured him. He huddled in the back of the group as Thoran gave an account of their escape from Gorgen’s Castle.

  “And what of the boy?” Bree Sai asked at the end of Thoran’s story. All eyes turned to Ara, and the woman’s face lit with anger. She leaped down from her horse and drew her dagger. She marched up to Ara, but Ara did not retreat. He stood still, awaiting whatever came.

  Thoran stepped in front of Bree Sai. “He rescued us. If it wasn’t for the boy, we’d still be prisoners.”

  Bree Sai eyed Ara over the point of her dagger. Ara held her gaze. The fear for his own safety had been lost, washed away. He had gotten the Descendants here, gotten the girl to safety—that was all that mattered.

  “Bree Sai,” the other rider called.

  The woman grunted and lowered her dagger. “Come,” she said. “Spade will decide what to do with you.”

  Ara was taken ahead of the other Descendants to a building in the center of the village. The Last Drop was written over the door. It was late and the inn was empty of patrons, but light still glowed from lanterns on the bar. Bree Sai pushed Ara down into a chair at a small table and lit the lantern overhead. Then she backed away to the door, guarding his exit. A needless precaution since Ara was too tired to run.

  Ara’s mind wandered to the other Descendants and what would become of them. He hoped this rebel hideout was safe from those who would hunt them. He wondered what kind of life this secluded place could offer the young girl. Would she be looked after? Put to work? Ara was so lost in thought that he didn’t see the woman enter through the back door. It was only when he heard movement behind the bar that he looked up to find the tanned woman with short cut hair pouring a glass of water. She put the glass on a tray with a half loaf of bread and brought it to Ara’s table.

  She nodded for Ara to take it, and he did not hesitate. He tore a piece from the loaf and ate hungrily, washing it down with a gulp of water. Ara felt the energy ripple through his body like new blood.

  “Thank you,” Ara said to the woman.

  “It was a brave thing you did,” the woman said. She sat down in the seat across from him. Ara could feel her eyes studying him, but he didn’t try to hide. He tore off another piece of bread. “Why did you help the other Descendants? You could have gotten away easier on your own.”

  “I couldn’t leave them there. I know what castle life is like for a Descendant.”

  “Do you? I’m told you were offered the comforts of a noble lord. That wasn’t enough for you?”

  “No,” Ara said. “It wasn’t.”

  The woman studied him without reaction, her face betraying nothing. Ara glanced back at the door where Bree Sai stood. Her face, on the other hand, betrayed plenty.

  “Bree Sai doesn’t like you much,” the woman observed.

  “I’ve noticed.” Ara turned back to the woman across from him. There was something about her, the way she sat upright and calm, the way she studied Ara. There were no rebel scars carved on the woman’s face, but she was as much a warrior as Bree Sai or any of the Descendant rebels. This was no simple barmaid.

  “You’re Spade,” Ara said.

  The woman raised an eyebrow; the sign of surprise she’d shown. “Why do you say that?”

  “You’re in charge here. They brought me to you.”

  “But I’m a woman.”

  “I’ve known women tough as any men.” Cambria’s freckled face flashed in Ara’s mind.

  “You are right, Ara. I am called Spade. Though it was not always my name.”

  Ara had heard many rumors of the great Rebel leader. Could she hold the answers he was looking for? Did she know the source of his blood power?

  “Your blood…is it like mine?”

  The woman, Spade, held his gaze. “No one’s blood is like yours.”

  Ara nodded slowly but couldn’t help but feel the disappointment. The more he searched the more he found the questions of his past had no answers.

  “I do not lead because of my blood. I lead because someone must.”

  Ara had heard many stories of Spade in the Descendant barracks of House Carmine. They talked of the rebel leader like a mythical figure who struck fear into the hearts of the Faith. Who could cut through a battalion of Temple guards single-handed. Ara held little faith in such stories.r />
  “Where are you from?” he asked.

  Spade took a deep breath and looked past Ara, as if into the past.

  “I was born a slave of House Octavian. My parents were slaves there—until my father was traded. When I was fourteen, my mother tried to escape to find my father. She took me with her, but I was young and slow. Octavian’s guards hunted us down in the woods. They beat my mother in front of me. I cried and begged for them to stop, but they kept at it, saying they had to teach her a lesson as they took turns on her. They beat her beyond the point of healing. She died right there in the dirt. They didn’t lay a fist on me. I clung to her broken bloody body until they pried me off and dragged me home. They left her there in the forest, left her for the animals. For a long time, I thought if only they had beaten me, too. If I had taken even a few of their angry blows, my mother would have lived.”

  Spade traced her finger over a knot on the table, digging her fingernail into the wood. Ara could see, even after all this time, the pain was still there.

  “I later burned House Octavian to the ground and every dry blood in it.”

  Ara’s mouth fell open. Even with help, he had barely escaped House Carmine with his life. Spade had taken down an entire noble house. Eradicated it from existence.

  “The other Descendants of House Octavian and I fled and started the underground rebellion.”

  “To fight the Faith.”

  “To free our people,” she corrected him. “The Faith are free to practice whatever beliefs they want as long as they don’t enslave and torture us. So yes, we fight them because they will not accept that. There is no Faith without us.”

  “And what about me?” Ara said. “Why did you have me kidnapped? Enslaved?” Ara turned back to Bree Sai as he said this. There was no remorse on the rebel’s face.

  “It was not my intention,” Spade said. “It was important that we meet, and my people did what they believed they had to do to bring you here.”

  “To take me against my will? To injure my friend?”

  “Dry bloods are not your friends, no matter what they say or however nice they treat you. When it comes down to it, everyone chooses their own blood.”

  “You’re wrong,” Ara said. “There are good people just as there are bad Descendants. We are not defined by our blood.”

  Ara held Spade’s gaze. He was certain about his friends. It had already come down to it, and with their own lives on the line, they had chosen to help him.

  “Then you have met better than I,” Spade said with a wave of her hand.

  “Why did you want to meet with me?” Ara asked. “To use me as a weapon?”

  “If royal blood does truly flow through your veins, then you have powers beyond anyone else. I could train you to do what you didn’t think possible. To be as strong as the Royals of old.”

  “What do you know of the Royals?”

  “I know that one Royal was equal to fifty dry blood soldiers. With the proper training of your abilities, you can not only heal but move faster and stronger than any man. That your powers extend beyond heightened senses. There are accounts of Royals who could even see what had not yet come to pass.”

  More myths. It couldn’t possibly be true, could it? “But how did I get this blood?” Ara asked, and he heard the plea in his voice. “What is the source? Where did I come from, and how come I don’t remember?”

  “That, I don’t know,” she said. “Since I first heard of your existence, I have looked for answers as well. I tracked down the hunters who found you in an attempt to trace where in the north they found you, in case there were more like you. In the end, they gave us very little. They found you near the northern border wall. You were so badly beaten they thought you were dead. A day later they found you breathing again, back from the dead. Even then, they had no idea what you were.”

  “But who beat me? Who tried to kill me in the first place?”

  “I don’t know. But it explains your memory loss. Head split open, beaten to the brink of death.”

  Ara shook his head. How had he gotten so far north? Who had attacked him? And who was the bearded man in his vision? With every answer, more questions sprouted up. His past was an unending tangle of vines.

  “Tonight you will stay here with us,” Spade said, gathering the cup and napkin onto the serving tray. “You need to rest after your long journey. You can decide what to do in the morning. If you wish to leave, we will not stop you. But if you stay here and begin your training, it will bring hope to Descendants throughout Terene. Hope that they now have a fighting chance at freedom.”

  Many thoughts drifted through Ara’s mind. He did not know these people, but he felt indebted to them just the same. He felt he owed something to every Descendant locked away in a castle or fighting for his life in a pit. As much as Ara wanted to see his friends again and hide from the problems of this world, he knew that time had passed.

  Ara stood up and weariness weighed down on him—from the night’s travels and from his entire journey. Rest was a luxury he had had little time for.

  “Bree Sai will show you to your bed,” Spade said, shooting the Descendant rebel a commanding look. “Sleep well, Ara. I have a surprise for you in the morning. Three of them, actually.”

  “Thank you, Spade,” Ara said. He moved towards Bree Sai. Even if she led him to the stables to sleep, he knew he would sleep well this night.

  But before he took another step, the door behind her flew open, and a man rushed into the inn. His eyes were wide with alarm and sweat poured down his brow. He looked past Ara to Spade.

  “They’re here,” he stammered out of breath. “The Temple guards. They’ve found us.”

  32

  “The attack is imminent. Our walls will not hold. They will make ghosts of us all.”

  Within minutes, The Last Drop was filled with people: the Descendants from House Gorgen, armed rebels, and women and children who looked no part of a rebellion. Some huddled in the center of the inn while others, including Ara, went to the windows to watch the approaching army. Ara didn’t know how many Temple guards there were, but he could see they were surrounded and outmatched. Screams carried through the darkness from the edge of the valley; rebels rode out but did not come back.

  “What do we do?” a woman shouted from the center of the room, cradling a baby in her arms.

  Spade gave quick commands to the rebels around her. Her men didn’t hesitate. They raced out into the night and to possible death.

  “What of the prisoners?” one of the rebels asked.

  Spade glanced in Ara’s direction before answering. “They’re safe where they are.”

  Prisoners? Had the rebels taken some Temple guards alive? Ara didn’t know if that would help them or put them in more danger. All these innocent people…hopefully, Spade knew what she was doing.

  “Ara,” Spade called. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  But before she reached him, the front door swung open, and Taro Kine stepped in. Blood ran down the side of the rebel’s face, fear in his eyes.

  Others must have seen the same thing for a general sigh of grief swept through the room. Taro Kine crossed to Spade. “There are too many,” he said in a low voice. “We can’t beat them.”

  “How many are there?” Spade asked.

  He looked to the window where the lights could be seen, the battle drawing closer. “Hundreds.”

  Spade didn’t blink. Whatever calculations ran through her head were over in seconds. She nodded, putting her hand on Taro Kine’s shoulder. “Get everyone back. We leave together.”

  “It’s too late,” someone shouted from the window. “They’re here.”

  Torchlight broke through the dark night in all directions like an approaching fire. Ara turned from the window and looked to the corner of the room where the young Descendant girl from House Gorgen lay huddled. Her face was pressed into her knees and hiding beneath a blanket of yellow hair.

  What have I done?

&n
bsp; Outside, the shapes became clearer. An army in white with a small cluster of purple from House Gorgen. They were beyond count. These poor people…I led the Faith straight to them.

  Spade swung a sword belt swung around her waist. The weapon was in conflict with her innkeeper’s clothes.

  “If anyone comes near the door, fire on them,” she said.

  The archers moved to the windows and drew their arrows. Rows of Temple guards assembled around the inn. Waiting. They were surrounded; there was no escape.

  A long-haired man on horseback rode to the front of the line. “Give us the boy,” the man called. “We know he’s here. Send him out and we shall spare the rest of you.”

  All eyes in the room fell on Ara.

  “It’s a lie,” Spade said. “They didn’t come all this way just to let us go.”

  “You can’t be certain,” a woman said. Her baby let out a cry, and she covered his mouth with its blanket, trying to soothe the child. All through the room, people huddled in fear.

  “Give him up or we burn this place down and comb through the ashes for those with the blood strong enough to survive,” the guard leader called.

  Ara turned to the door but his feet wouldn’t move. Out that door was the Temple dungeon, where he’d be imprisoned and drained for the rest of his days. Ara couldn’t imagine anything worse.

  Bree Sai stepped forward. The rebel warrior stared daggers at him.

  “Foolish brat. You better be worth it.” She kicked open the door and screamed into the night. “Dry blood scum!”

  “No,” Taro Kine yelled.

  Bree Sai drew her arrows and shot three times in the span of a second. The arrows shot through the night, killing the three closest guards. “Die!” she shouted. Her fourth arrow was halfway out of the quiver when a hail of arrows lit up the doorway.

  A stunned Bree Sai stumbled back into the inn. Taro Kine rushed forward and caught her. He cradled her arrow-riddled body in his arms. “Nooooo,” he howled.

  Windows shattered under arrow fire.