Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan (11 page)

Although she could find little that was identifiable in the digestive system, the renal system was remarkably similar to what it should be. Both kidneys were functioning, although they did not appear to be doing what normal kidneys did.

To Susan’s knowledge, the woman had absorbed no nutrients from the feeding tube and therefore elimination had not been necessary. Beyond the fact that Susan had no idea how the woman survived without eating or eliminating waste, she could not decipher exactly what the kidneys were doing.

Until she had glanced at the charts in front of her. The levels of erythropoietin were sky-high in the woman’s kidneys. Erythropoietin was a substance synthesized by the kidneys to increase red blood cell production in bone marrow. This rather pronounced increase of red blood cells would boost endurance by promoting elevated oxygen delivery to muscles. It was the theory behind “blood doping” which athletes often attempted to increase performance.

The problem was that the level in the woman’s body should have created too many blood cells. She should have “polycythemia vera,” or in layman’s terms, blood the consistency of glue. Susan glanced at the sleeping woman. Her blood should be too thick to supply oxygen delivery and thick enough to at least cause a stroke, if not death.

But instead, she just slept peacefully on.

Susan sighed and sat down.

Susan glanced at the EEG. It was the same pattern as always; the only difference was the degree. The glowing line traced out alpha waves, signaling alertness. Susan glanced in at the woman, who appeared asleep as always. Rarely did theta waves show up on the monitor, and never beta waves. Susan sat down heavily. What she wouldn’t give to know what was going on in that woman’s head.

It was nearly three years before the boy returned to his village. He was taller, though still slender, and he had been hardened by the life he had led. His sword had been instrumental in many battles, and although he was but 18 years old, he was proclaimed a man among men.

He was dusty and tired, and his horse was thirsty. Judging by the position of the sun, his village should be another hours ride.

He stopped at a stream and allowed his horse to drink. He waded into the water, fully clothed, and doused himself. He remounted his horse and continued on his way.

Although his senses were always keen, perhaps it was the stench of battle still in his nostrils that at first caused the scent of smoke and death to elude him. The smell finally intruded upon his awareness and a look of concern crossed his features. He kicked his horse into a gallop.

He topped the rise above his village, but the familiar sight of the huts was not what greeted him. Instead, he was welcomed by burned out hulks and smoldering ashes. His jaw clenched, he rode slowly down into his home. He had not missed this act by more than a day.

Bodies were strewn amongst the wreckage, and although he had seen carnage in battle, none of it affected him the way this did. He moved to where his hut had stood, and although he did not recognize the burned corpses, he knew them to be his mother and father.

The cry of a nearby winged scavenger attracted his gaze and he dismounted and chased the bird away. The body the bird was attempting to feed off was that of a young woman. It took the boy a moment to recognize the young girl he had saved from the priest seasons ago. Her body was not burned, but she had been run through with a sword. Judging by the blood between her legs, she had been run through by more than a sword before dying. The boy clenched his jaw tighter.

The sun was nearly setting by the time the boy finished. He buried the young girl; everything else he burned to the ground. His fatigue left him, replaced by an icy coldness much stranger than the fierce anger he felt in battle.

He examined the immediate area. It was not difficult to find the trail of the men who had committed this act; no one in the village owned horses. He started out in the black of night, following a sparse trail that seemed as clear as day to him.

The sun rose and set twice more before the boy caught up with the men. He had not slept and did not feel the need to. It was early morning and the men were breaking camp as the boy peered at them from the bushes. Their laughter increased the coldness inside of him.

He recognized one of the men. It was the one called Derek who had tried to kill him when the Man had stepped in and taken him away. The boy knew he had found the band that had destroyed his village.

As a soldier, he had learned to count the number of the enemy. He counted twelve now. One man approached the underbrush near the boy and began to relieve himself. The boy slipped up silently behind the man, placed his hand over the man’s mouth and then slit his throat from ear-to-ear with his short sword. He quietly lowered the dead man to the ground.

The boy worked his way through the brush to the horses. One man was tending them. He moved silently behind the man and again slit his throat. His killing was so efficient the horses barely stirred.

The boy returned to his own horse and removed the longbow he had stored there. He strapped the quiver of arrows to his back and returned to the clearing. No one seemed to notice the two missing men.

The boy scaled a tree so he had a clear view of the encampment. He thought he could get off two, maybe three arrows before the alarm was sounded. He would try and pick off as many of the band as possible, then chase them down as they fled in the confusion.

The boy braced his back against the tree. It took tremendous strength to draw the string on his bow, but it seemed effortless to him. He closed one eye, and aimed for two men standing closely together.

The arrow sped through the air, making its distinctive flitting noise. It flew true and with such force that, not only did it pierce the first man, it continued forward and impaled the second man. The two soldiers were pinned chest-to-chest, forced to look into the dying eyes of one another with little more than confusion on their faces.

The boy was already fitting another arrow to the bow, and as the men tried to make sense of the sudden, deadly embrace of their comrades, another fell, his chest exploding into crimson before his eyes.

Instinct kicked in as the men began to run for cover, trying to identify their assailants. But the boy was fitting another deadly missile and another fell before he could reach cover.

The boy slid down the trunk of the tree, knowing the men would run for their horses. He was there before them, and another arrow flew, knocking a man from the horse he had just mounted. This spooked the horses as they began to run away.

The boy gave a fierce cry and charged, his sword drawn. The man nearest him was so startled he could barely get his sword from his sheath. It did him no good as the boy knocked the sword from his hand and ran the man through.

Three of the men ran in terror, disappearing into the forest. The boy let them go, his eyes searching for the one called Derek. Another man charged him and the boy blocked his sword thrust, locking the two hilts together. He pulled the man’s own dagger from his belt and thrust it into his stomach. He crumpled to the ground.

The boy sensed a presence behind him and instinctively ducked. The sword whistled through the air above his head. He head-butted the figure behind him and it stumbled backward.

Derek was furious. “You arrogant little bastard. I should have known it was you, hiding in the forest like a coward.”

The boy was also furious. “Oh, and was it so manly to attack a defenseless village?”

Derek smiled cruelly. “Yes, we did accomplish some manly deeds there.”

The boy remembered the body of the young girl and attacked in fury. Derek parried the boy’s blows, but not easily. It was obvious he was astounded by the boy’s strength, which appeared to anger him even further.

“Victor believes you to be special, but I don’t think so.”

The boy smashed his sword down. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said through clenched teeth, “nor do I care.”

The boy smashed Derek’s sword out of his hand and in a tremendous blast of fury, drove his sword into his midsection clear to the hilt. Disbelief was on Derek’s face as he sunk to his knees, grasping the hilt of the sword.

The boy stared down at Derek, his fury unabated. He didn’t want to simply kill Derek; he wanted to utterly destroy him.

Derek coughed blood, still clutching the sword handle. He had difficulty speaking, but he choked out his last words.

“It doesn’t matter, boy. It doesn’t matter.” Derek coughed again, and this time the blood came up black. He looked up and the boy saw a deep bitterness in Derek’s eyes. “Hell will wait for you, anyway.”

Derek died.

The unexplainable bitterness Derek held for him and his strange last words finally cooled the boy’s fury. He pulled his sword from the dead man and wiped it on his tunic. He resheathed it and staggered back to his horse.

His fatigue finally overcame him. He pulled himself onto his horse and laid down on the beast’s neck. The animal sensed its master’s exhaustion and quietly picked its way through the forest.

The boy was shaken awake and sat upright on his horse. A rosy-cheeked farmer was gently pulling on his leg.

“Are you all right, boy?”

The boy nodded, trying to shake his exhaustion. It was no use and he nearly fell off his horse. The farmer caught him halfway down. The farmer was joined by his equally rosy-cheeked wife, who helped the boy to their wagon.

“Would you be wanting a ride for a ways?”

The boy had a natural distrust of anyone who would do a good deed without compensation, but his exhaustion was too great. He nodded dumbly, not even bothering to ask where the two were going. It no longer mattered to him.

The farmer tied the boy’s horse to the rear of the wagon, and the horse began to happily munch on the hay there. The farmer’s wife helped the lad into the bed of the wagon and he collapsed into the heap of warm hay. The farmer’s wife clucked to herself and covered him with a heavy wool blanket. The boy was too tired even to thank her, and collapsed into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The Man watched the cart pull into his courtyard. The heavy gate clanged closed behind it. He moved down the steps to greet the farmer and his wife, nodding his thanks. He glanced into the rear of the cart, knowing what was there before he did so.

The figure was sprawled in the hay, only the tousled hair peaking out from underneath the blanket the farmer’s wife had laid upon it.

Soldiers stepped forward to assist but he waved them back. Effortlessly, he lifted the figure from the hay and much to the surprise of everyone present, carried the figure himself. All watched in silence as the dark-haired man carried the prone figure in his arms, across the courtyard, then all the way up the stone stairs.

He laid the figure down on the hard bed amongst the soft coverlets. The figure stirred but did not waken. He nodded to the nursemaid who had followed him into the room.

“This is your new charge. A hot bath and clean clothes will make a good start.”

The nurse eyed the prone figure. “Is the boy ill? Will he awaken soon?”

The man smiled. “The ‘boy’ is not ill, but sleep will not release this one anytime soon.”

The nursemaid nodded and the man left for an adjoining room. A brief time passed, and he was not surprised to hear screams echo down the stone hallways. She came rushing into his room.

“My lord, you must come quickly. The boy has suffered some grievous injury!”

The man smiled, not the least bit perturbed by her hysteria. “And what type of injury would that be?”

The woman swallowed hard. This would be difficult. “I’m afraid he’s lost his manhood, my lord.”

The man shook his head. It continually amazed him that this people would accept the extraordinary over the obvious. “Miriam, he has not lost his manhood, because ‘he’ is not a ‘he.’”

Understanding was slow to dawn on Miriam. She had to repeat his lordship’s words several times silently to herself before she realized what he was saying.

Victor nodded when he was certain she understood his meaning, but he wanted to clarify it just in case. “I am quite aware the boy in the next room is not a boy, but a girl. Her name is Rhian. Now, please continue your care for her.”