Ara thought that was the end of it. Then, through the black of nothingness, he heard the Highfather’s angry voice and knew they had failed.
Ara didn’t open his eyes, even when the doors first burst open and the fighting began. He listened, on the brink of consciousness, trying to interpret the battle raging around him. Descendant prisoners fought against Temple guards.
Then, he sat up and saw Cambria and Geyer. They were still alive, and they had come for him.
Ara had tried to get up, to run to them. He must have blacked out again because he awoke on the marble floor under the table. He touched his throat and felt the small scar where he had been bled out. How had he not died? He needed time to recover, time for his body to make more blood. Then he remembered the Highfather’s words about poisoning everyone with this dark blood. His friends and the other Descendants were in danger. Ara needed to stop the Highfather.
Ara crawled towards the back door the Highfather and the Curor had escaped through. His lower body was heavy and useless, like pulling a coat of armor. Eventually, he was able to push off his toes. Ara reached the handle of the back door and tried to pull himself up. He woke on the floor. The sound of the battle echoed around him. His friends, fighting for him. Ara pulled himself to his feet and leaned against the wall, inching his way down the hall.
Voices sounded down the corridor ahead of Ara. He hoped it was not a reinforcement of Temple guards. He was in no position to fight; he could barely stay upright. He held his breath as the voices carried out of sight. Ara pushed onward. He wasn’t sure how long he walked or how many times he passed out and woke up on the floor.
The light grew brighter and the corridor opened to an open area. A large stone fountain stood in the center of the room. Letting go of the wall, Ara fell to the ground and crawled towards it. The water was cool in his cupped hands. It hit his lips and his mouth came alive. Water ran through his body like life itself. His muscles tightened, his vision cleared. Ara drank until he was able to stand on his own, his body using the water as fuel. He felt his heart pumping new blood through his body, the veins pouring like new rivers through a dry landscape.
His body called out for rest, his eyes growing heavy. But there was no time. He could walk and that would have to be enough. He had to stop the Highfather.
Ara shuffled through the hallway, leaning on the wall for support. The Temple was enormous. Stone passages opened in every direction. The chances of him finding the Highfather… Ara stopped. Voices called ahead behind an open door. A chill washed through Ara as he recognized the angry voice.
“Hurry,” the Highfather ordered. “Fill it up.”
Ara inched closer and peered through the door. The Highfather stood in the middle of the room, barking orders while two Temple guards filled a wheelbarrow with bottles of black liquid. Dark blood.
A bottle slipped in a guard’s hand and he lunged down, catching it before it hit the ground. The room stood in silence.
The Highfather scowled at the guard.
“Sorry, Father.”
“You’ve seen what happens to those exposed to the dark blood,” the Highfather warned. He waved to the wheelbarrow. “Take this up to the balcony and drop it on the sanctuary. I want all those cursed Descendants transformed.”
“But what about our men? They’re still in there fighting.”
“They too will serve as our dark-blooded warriors.”
Ara couldn’t let that happen. Think. He looked around for a weapon, something to fight with. He’d have little chance against two guards in the best of circumstances, let alone unarmed and in his weakened condition. But sometimes you didn’t have time to plan. Sometimes, you just had to wing it. Ara stepped inside, steadying himself in the doorway. “I won’t let you poison all those people.”
“You?” the Highfather snarled at the sight of Ara. “But you were dead.”
“Yes.” Ara nodded, his mind racing through the problem before him. There had to be a solution. The guards stepped away from the wheelbarrow, circling the boy. The Highfather scowled with such hate, his face as red as his pointy hat, his white robe, no longer so pristine.
“Hemo brought me back,” Ara said.
The guards stopped. The Highfather’s face contorted, his brow bending under a raging storm. “Blasphemy!”
“You’re wrong,” Ara said. “You’ve always been wrong. Hemo brought me back to tell you. He is ashamed of the evils you have done in his name.”
The Highfather’s eyes flickered. Ara saw it, written beneath the lines of the old man’s face. Uncertainty.
“You lie.”
“You said yourself I was dead.”
The guards were watching the Highfather, waiting. If there was anyone they possibly feared more than him, it was their Lord Hemo.
“Descendant deceiver!” the Highfather shouted. “Hemo didn’t bring you back.”
Ara tilted his head, his face questioning. “Who else could? Who else has that kind of power?”
The Highfather’s mouth twitched. He looked ready to explode.
Keep stalling. He had to buy his friends time. Ara stepped farther into the room, as if the armed Temple guards were no threat to him. His legs wobbled under him. Steady. He breathed, willing his blood to his legs, giving himself strength. Keep him talking.
“Why do you hate us so much?”
“Why?” the Highfather’s eyes lit with rage. “Because I know my history. I know what this world looks like for mankind when the Royals rule; when we were slaves under your boots. I will not let that happen again.”
“But you’re doing exactly what the Royals did. You’re enslaving an entire race of people.”
“Better you than us.”
“It doesn’t have to be one or the other. We could have lived in peace.”
The Highfather scoffed. “Then you don’t know your history. There is always a dominant power. There are those who serve, and there are those of us destined to rule. The only reason your kind still exists is to serve us.”
The words of a tyrant. He used his power to make others suffer and he had done it under the guise of faith. Ara shook his head stepping forward.
“You’ve deceived yourself. It’s a shame. All this power, all this knowledge at your fingertips, and you can still be so wrong.”
The Highfather smiled, his confidence returning. “You think you’ve won? Because of the small revolt in the sanctuary? Poor boy, your faith is misplaced.”
Ara thought of his friends. Briton, who rescued him from Castle Carmine, who died trying to save him. Geyer, who never abandoned him, who fought for him now against the entire Temple army. And Cambria, he smiled, glad to have seen her once more, though, it was for the last time. The odds had always been against them, their defeat assured. But it had been worth fighting.
“You’re wrong,” Ara said, standing proud before the Highfather of the Faith. “I know exactly where to put my faith.”
“Kill him!” the Highfather yelled. The guards drew their swords, the metal reflected the light from the stained glass window. Another second and they’d be upon him.
“You want blood?” Ara breathed, summoning strength from what blood he had left. “It’s all yours.”
He charged forward and kicked the wheelbarrow. It flipped over hitting the Highfather at the legs and taking the old man down. Bottles shattered open; dark blood splashed everywhere, covering the Highfather and staining his white robes. The Highfather screamed tearing at the blood on his face and in his eyes. More glass crashed as he kicked the wheelbarrow off of him. Dark blood spilled across the floor, running over Ara’s bare feet.
The guards screamed and retreated. They ran out the door as a wave of blood swept their way.
The Highfather shrieked. “Help meeeee!”
On the floor, rolling in dark blood, the Highfather’s body contorted. Bones jutted out of his skin, bending him in strange angles. Black veins bubbled on his face, and his skin faded to gray. He looked at Ara with eyes that b
led.
The guards covered their mouths and tore down the hallway, their boots fading fast.
Ara looked down at the pool of dark blood that covered his feet. Whatever was happening to the Highfather would happen to him to; he could feel it coming, growing inside him.
“Ara!” Cambria stood in the doorway, her eyes wide as she took in the scene. “Get out of there!”
The Highfather’s cries of pain shifted to a roar. A clawed hand splashed into the wet floor as he pushed himself to his feet. His skull protruded through his bald, gray head like spikes. “I…I’llll…killlll you…alllll,” he growled.
“No,” Ara said. “This ends now.”
Ara charged forward, splashing through the river of dark blood. He collided into the creature and knocked him back through the stained glass window. The glass shattered under the weight and the Highfather flew into the outside air.
His beastly howl descended from the Temple, then cut short. The Highfather hung impaled on a statue. Black blood dripped down the stone figure’s longsword that stuck right through the creature’s heart.
It was over.
Ara collapsed to the floor, sliding in dark blood, his vision darkening.
“Ara!” Cambria screamed.
“Stay back,” Ara murmured. “The blood…don’t let it…infect you.”
But Cambria didn’t heed his warning. She charged into the room, splashing through the poison to his side.
“Cambria, no,” Ara said, his consciousness fading.
“I’m here,” Cambria said. She grabbed Ara by the shirt and dragged him across the room. “I’m right here, Ara. I’m with you.”
But Ara could feel the poison blood on his feet. Warm and wet.
Cambria set Ara down in the hallway. She ripped off his shirt and then the rest of his clothes. She wiped his face and arms, then scrubbed his feet clean. She was talking to him, but he couldn’t make out the words. It was all he could do to stay conscious, to not give into the darkness enclosing him.
Ara tried to focus. Cambria’s freckled face hovered over his. Her eyes concentrating on her work. “You came for me,” Ara mumbled.
Cambria tore her shirt, wiping Ara’s naked body.
Ara didn’t even have the strength to blush. If this was the end, he couldn’t think of a better way to go.
Then, there was another voice. The speaker stood at Ara’s side. “You two pick a hell of a time to celebrate.”
Ara opened his eyes. Geyer.
“Help me get him clean,” Cambria said. “We have to hurry.”
Geyer picked up Ara’s naked body and carried him down the hallway.
“Geyer, you’re alive,” Ara murmured. “Does that mean…”
“Yes,” Geyer said. “Fates knows how, but we won.”
They ran through the Temple halls as fast as Geyer’s leg would allow. Ara bounced up and down in the old knight’s arms. The bodies of a few Temple guards lay scattered on the floor.
A moment later Geyer dropped him into a fountain, submerging him in the cold water. Hands worked him over as Cambria and Geyer scrubbed him clean with torn clothes. But Ara knew it was too late. He felt some of the dark blood in his body, felt it mixing into his own blood like heavy tar.
They pulled him out and dried him off. Eventually, the world returned to Ara. He could sit up on his own, no longer surrendering to unconsciousness.
“That was a brave and stupid thing you did, Ara, destroying all that poison,” Geyer said. The knight tore a banner of the Faith from the wall and wrapped it around Ara. “I’ve come to expect nothing less from you.” Geyer smiled, but there was fatigue on his face.
Ara still couldn’t believe it was true. They’d won. It felt strange to no longer be running. To be sitting in the heart of the Temple of the Faith.
How in the world had they pulled it off?
People passed in the halls; Descendants caring for their wounded. Temple guards marched in a line, hands resting on their heads in surrender. So many had died, was there anything left?
“Spade and the others?” Ara asked.
“She’s alive, as is Mace Ren. Taro Kine’s in bad shape, but it looks like he’ll pull through. The Descendants are sharing their blood with the injured. Solvan Ra and Edward Kel are gone.”
Ara nodded and reached his hand out to Cambria who was sitting on the edge of the fountain. She watched him like a doctor, looking for signs of illness. Ara took her hand.
“Thank you, for coming for me,” Ara said. “Both of you.”
Cambria forced a smile, and a tear ran down her perfectly freckled face. “We’re even.”
“Well, we’re certainly not even,” Geyer said. “I think that’s four times now I’ve saved your life. I’m still waiting for that to come around.”
Ara chuckled. “I thought knights don’t charge for their noble deeds, Sir Geyer.”
“Hey now, boy. Just because I lose my mind and do one foolish thing, doesn’t give you the right to start calling me names.”
They sat in silence for a moment. No one needed to speak. They each knew how close they’d come to losing one another. Ara couldn’t help but wish Briton could be there in that moment. It didn’t feel complete without him. He supposed it never would.
Geyer grunted and rubbed his left leg. “That’s enough sitting around for me. I better go check on that fool Taro Kine. Make sure he’s not telling everyone that he won this battle single-handed.”
As he limped down the hallway, the old knight seems to stand taller.
Ara stayed with Cambria on the fountain’s edge. Her hair and clothes were wet. The boots she’d run into the room with were gone. Her hands lay folded in her lap, slightly trembling.
“How do you feel?” Ara asked Cambria. She’d risked exposure to the blood to save him. If anything happened to her…
“I can’t stop shaking,” she said. “But I think I’m okay. The blood…I don’t think it got on me.”
Ara sighed with relief.
“How about you?” Cambria asked, studying him as she would a sick patient. “It was on you. Do you feel any different?”
Ara wasn’t sure. He’d felt something on the floor of the room, like a creature climbing into his body. Had it all been in his mind? He wasn’t transforming into a monster like the Highfather. Maybe his blood had saved him. Or maybe it just took longer to take hold.
Ara looked down at the banner wrapped around his body. “I’ll feel a whole lot better once I get some clothes on.”
Cambria laughed. “Me, too.”
But neither of them moved. They stayed silent for a long time, the full weight of the past few days coming down on them. They had taken on the Faith and the entire Temple guard and somehow survived. The Highfather was gone, but that wasn’t the end of it. Terene was a big place and there was always another noble lord or Father ready to claim his place. Ara and Cambria sat together for a long time, not knowing what came next.
For now, it felt good just to rest.
Part IV
THE EDGE OF THE WORLD
38
“We live now for future generations. May they learn from our mistakes and shape a better world.”
Ara closed The Last Writings of King Garian Kovar and rubbed his eyes. Geyer had retrieved the necklace containing the tiny book when he sent for Briton’s body to be recovered. Briton had carried the book with them throughout their journey, always hoping to find some secret in the king’s final diary, something that pointed to the source of the Royals’ blood. But the book was mostly a confession.
In the end, Garian was ashamed of how his people treated the dry bloods, and he feared their eventual revolt, which he saw as justice. In so many ways, it mirrored the Descendant rebellion. Maybe the Highfather was right, no matter who was in power, some lessons are never learned.
Kovar, Ara repeated the king’s name. He leaned back in his chair, trying to grab hold of something hovering in his mind. Light shined through the stained glass windows, bathing
the Temple library in a warm, red and gold hue. There were more books on one wall of this library than a person could read in a lifetime.
Briton would have loved this place.
Ara closed the book and locked it in its case. As much as he’d enjoyed his days of study in the Temple library, he grew restless. With food and sleep, his body had recovered—in fact, he was feeling stronger than ever—but Cambria still ordered him to rest. Though his body had needed recovery, he felt guilty reading in the library with all the work that needed to be done.
Spade was busy with the few Fathers of the Faith who had stayed, arguing over the Temple’s future and the direction of Terene. The defeat of the Highfather was only one small victory; Descendants still sat in prisons throughout Terene, their blood now taken at a higher rate than ever. Even Cambria had not heeded her own advice; she spent her hours tending to the countless injured from both sides. Those who were lucky enough to survive the Temple Siege.
Ara gazed at the books spread out before him on the table. He hadn’t found the answers he searched for, but he had found a new question. One that wouldn’t go away. His eyes fell on the map spread out before him and he let out a sigh. How was he going to tell them?
Ara was so focused that he didn’t hear her approach.
“All this reading is bad for your eyes,” Cambria said. Her shirt was stained with dirt and dried blood. Her face looked tired from late nights in the new infirmary, but her eyes had a spark of life as she teased Ara.
“That can’t be true, can it?” Ara asked.
Cambria shrugged and leaned her hands on the table beside him.
“You can’t just make stuff up when it is convenient,” Ara said. “There must be some ethical law against that.”
“I’d have to be ethical to adhere to it.” She studied Ara’s face. “How do you feel today?”
“Better than ever. I can’t tell you how good it feels having consistent meals and rest. It’s like I’d been running on injured legs for the past year and only now realize what normal feels like.”
Good Blood Page 39
