Good Blood

by Billy Ketch Allen

  Ara did not tell her about the black veins that had formed on the heels of his feet. Remnants of the Highfather’s dark blood.

  Cambria’s eyes fell on the map spread out before Ara. “When are you leaving?”

  “Leaving?” Ara looked up confused. Cambria’s features softened, there was no judgment in her eyes, just a look that could see right through him. “I…I was afraid to tell you.” Ara looked away. “I have to find out where I’m from. I have to know…”

  “I understand,” Cambria said, cutting him off, her words suddenly clinical. “You’re strong enough to ride; you have been for days. Make sure to pack plenty of provisions. Your blood can do amazing things but it still needs to be fed.”

  “Cambria,” Ara started but lost the words. She stood before him; the freckled face girl he’d met on the road. They’d both changed so much in the short amount of time together.

  “Thank you,” he said, finally. “For everything.”

  Cambria nodded, her doctor’s disposition cracking for a moment. “Come back soon, Ara. There’s still a lot more we have to do.”

  “I will,” Ara promised. And he meant it.

  Cambria walked from the library, and Ara held onto her image for a few minutes longer. Then, he turned to the table and collected his notes and the map for the journey ahead.

  Ara packed his horse and waited in the Temple square, hoping to run into one more person before he left.

  “Pick up the pace!” a voice yelled. “We’re not marching in a parade sweethearts!”

  Ara smiled. A group of Temple Guards ran past the stables in full armor. They huffed as they tried to keep up to their new commander’s standards. Ara knew the feeling.

  “Don’t worry,” Ara called. “You’ve trained worse.”

  Geyer turned his head and grunted at the sight of Ara. He barked out another command to the guards, “Another lap around the Temple. This time like soldiers.” Then, he crossed the square, his left leg dragging behind.

  “I don’t know how I let Spade talk me into this,” he said, shaking his head. “Only I would be dim enough to teach sword fighting to the people that were just trying to kill me.”

  “The outfit suits you.”

  Geyer glanced down at his new armor. “A big shiny target is all it is.”

  Ara grinned. Apparently not even defeating the Faith was enough to change Geyer’s attitude.

  “So it’s true,” Geyer said, nodding to Ara’s horse and supplies. “You are leaving.”

  “I have to,” Ara looked down. “I need answers.” He was about to explain about the Ghost Mountains and about Kovar’s final words when the old knight cut him off.

  “It’s about time,” Geyer said. “You weren’t going to find any answers sitting around the library in your pajamas.”

  Ara laughed. “It’s called reading. You should try it sometime.”

  “I’ve made it this long without, no point starting now.”

  “A friend of mine once said, ‘never rob yourself of the chance to learn.’”

  Geyer grunted and kicked a rock at his feet. “Sounds like a wiser man than me.” He pointed to the knife strapped to Ara’s belt. “You remember how to use that thing?”

  “I remember what you taught me.”

  “Good. Keep your guard up out there. The road’s not a friendly place.”

  “I remember that, too.”

  Geyer looked Ara over, sizing him up. “You’ve finally put on some weight. I may even teach you how to use a sword when you get back.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Geyer grinned. “You shouldn’t.”

  The guards came trudging back around the Temple and stopped in the center of the square, bent over, gasping and spitting in the dirt.

  “What does running have to do with sword fighting?” Ara asked.

  “Fates, if I know. Just something to keep them busy.”

  Ara chuckled to himself as he climbed on his horse. He steered the horse towards the Temple gates but stopped to give Geyer a salute. “Sir Geyer.”

  Geyer rolled his eyes and shuffled over to the panting Temple guards. “Are you winded? Looks like we need another lap. Pick up those feet you clinking bedpans!”

  Ara rode northwest from the Temple following the map in his head. It felt like he was riding upstream, for the road was crowded with travelers heading in the opposite direction. The Temple was now open to all the people of Terene, not just those of the Faith. Ara nodded to passing riders and caravans. It felt strange to travel out in the open, without looking over his shoulder for Temple guards.

  He rode hard and he rested hard. At one point he spent a full afternoon beside the river’s edge, watching the horse drink and enjoying the sound of the lazy current. He wondered what Cambria would think of this place. He wondered that on more than one occasion.

  After four days of travel, Ara came to his destination. The end of the map. As best he could tell, this was where he was found almost a year ago—battered and nearly dead at the foot of the northern mountain wall.

  Ara climbed off his horse and untied his pack. Ara stroked the animal’s course mane, then let the horse go. It was cruel to leave it tied up with the chance he might not return.

  Before him, the Ghost Mountains rose up into the foggy, gray sky. So, this is the end of the world.

  The line from King Kovar’s book came to him then: They will make ghosts of us all.

  Ara began to climb.

  His body felt stronger than it had in all his memory. His blood was his own. It pumped to and from his heart, recharging his muscles as he scaled higher and higher. He didn’t push his pace. He moved slow and steady, careful with his footing the higher he went. He didn’t know what he would find if he ever reached the mountain’s top, but he believed a top did exist.

  When night came, the footing was still good so Ara continued, climbing by moonlight for as long as he could. When the cliff face grew more treacherous and he slipped a few times before catching himself on jutting rocks, he stopped for the night. He wedged his body into a small alcove and slept. At this height, the moon and stars seemed bigger.

  When the sun rose in the morning, Ara felt fully recharged. He ate sparingly from his pack then set out again, climbing with even greater speed. The fog grew thicker as if he were climbing through the clouds themselves. When he grew tired, he’d rest and consume a small portion of his supplies, just enough to prepare for the next climb. He slept in flat spots in the mountain, tying himself against rocks. It was taxing work, and each time he looked down he’d stop for a few minutes in order to calm his nerves.

  On the third day, Ara saw the mountain did not stretch into infinity; it did, in fact, have an end. He smiled, remembering Briton’s words on superstition. If only his old friend could see this now.

  Ara climbed with renewed energy as the summit grew closer.

  He reached the top the following morning. He pulled himself up with hands scraped raw and rolled away from the edge. Ara lay there at the end of the known world, looking up at the clear blue sky, laboring for breath. He waited as his blood took over, restoring his aching body.

  Though the fog blocked the land at the base of the mountain, in the distance Ara could partially see the scope of Terene. Land and hills rolled on forever; the tops of the trees so far below. From this high up, it was as if Ara was a bird, soaring over the land and forests.

  It was a truly majestic view.

  Ara flexed his numb hands. The blisters were already gone.

  He climbed to his feet and set out along the top of the mountain. Red rock formations rose out of the ground like pillars. There were no trees or plant life, just the red rock shelves that blocked the view ahead. Ara followed a path that zigzagged through the rocks but never let him see too far ahead. The hairs on his arms tingled as he walked into the unknown, a world that did not exist on any map.

  At his touch, the rock broke away, crumbling into a fine red dust. He felt the empty waterskin in his pack
. He wasn’t in any hurry to climb down the mountain, but how much farther should he go? He wouldn’t get far without food or water, and there didn’t seem to be much on this dry mountaintop.

  The path through the rocks began to descend. An opening appeared in the rock wall ahead. The ground sloped down a treeless hillside. Far in the distance, at the base of a valley, lay a collection of scattered tents. Ara froze, gazing at the small village. He’d seen this place before. Memories pushed against the wall of his mind like a river after a storm. His heart raced. Was this home?

  Remember.

  Rock shifted above him. Ara’s focus pulled back to the present; eyes and ears alert, his hand hovered over the knife on his belt. The air was silent except for the wind whistling through the rock path.

  “Touch that weapon and you fall before you draw it,” a voice echoed through the rock canyon.

  Ara turned around, raising his hand away from the knife. The path behind him was empty.

  “I mean you no harm.”

  “You are trespassing on protected land.”

  “I’ve come for answers. Nothing more.”

  Rocks shifted nearby. Above and to my left, Ara noted the location, but he still couldn’t see the speaker.

  “Who are you?” he asked. “Tell me what is this place?”

  No answer.

  “Please. I’ve traveled so far.”

  “You should have stayed in the lands of men, groundling. There is nothing for you here but death.”

  No. He had come too far, been through too much. Answers lay in the valley below. He would not be denied.

  Ara drew his knife.

  A shadow passed above, a figure flying through the air. Ara jumped up to meet him. His attacker swung a spear. Ara met it with his knife, blocking the first blow, then the second. He saw his attacker now; the man wore a tight brown tunic, metal armbands fashioned to his muscular shoulders. The uniform of a warrior.

  The two crashed to the rocks, but stayed on their feet. The spearman recovered quicker. The spear tip hurled towards Ara’s head. Ara blocked it just in time, but the impact knocked the knife from his hand. Weaponless, Ara leaped forward swinging his fist at the taller man’s face. But the spearman was too fast. His boot caught Ara in the belly and the shaft of the spear smashed up into Ara’s forehead. Ara flew back into the rock wall, red dust exploding as he toppled to the ground.

  Ara spit blood into the dirt, moaning as the ground spun around him. It was over. He’d come all this way just to die now. He lifted his head to his attacker. Light flashed, the spear rammed towards him. Ara cringed, but the pain never came.

  He opened his eyes. The spear hung inches from his throat. The spearman’s eyes shot wide, staring in disbelief.

  “Rykin Kovar?” the man gasped.

  The name ignited a spark in Ara’s mind, a small flame in a great darkness. Yes, the name Kovar had been familiar. Now, he heard it truly as his own.

  Ara looked up at the spearman, questions flooding his mind. The man’s brown eyes narrowed to slits; his face hardened to rock. He pressed the spear’s tip to Ara’s throat.

  “You should not have come back.”

  I hope you enjoyed Book One of The Descendants of Terene series. I would really appreciate you leaving a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or wherever you bought this book.

  Thank you for your support.

  Click HERE to get the FREE story “Requiem for House Octavian,” a prequel set in the world of Terene.

  Acknowledgments

  A lot of work went into this book, and not just by the author. Thank you to Kyle Cossairt for your notes and accountability through this whole, long process. To my first readers: Deb, Christine, Vince, Colin, Bryan, Lauren, Doug, Betsi, Mom and Dad. To J.W. Editing for cleaning up the book and getting rid of my poorly used semicolons. To germancreative for the epic cover. To Kerri for creating a map of the world. And to my wife Janelle for letting me sneak away to the library to work and not rolling her eyes too much when I talked about writing a fantasy book.

  About the Author

  Billy Ketch Allen lives with his wife and son in Redondo Beach, California where he works as a professional beach volleyball player. This is his first novel. At least that he has shown anybody.

  www.billyketchallen.com