Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan (9 page)

The leader, an older, elegantly dressed man replied. “Release this boy immediately.”

The clergyman began to protest but the man cut him short, throwing down a piece of parchment. “It has been approved by his Grace, as you can see by the seal. His Grace does not appreciate his orders being questioned or disobeyed.”

The local priest glanced at the parchment and although he could barely read, it was indeed his Grace’s seal. The elegant man looked down at him disdainfully. “Release him. Now!”

The lawman scrambled to obey, fearing both the specter of his Grace’s wrath and the more immediate threat of the band of well-armed men. The boy felt the stock loosened and tried to stand upright. He nearly fell because he could not feel his legs. One of the soldiers who had dismounted caught him, holding him upright until he regained feeling in his legs.

The boy was confused and looked upward to his savior, but the man on the horse had no compassion in his gaze. “Were you touched?”

The boy shook his head and the man seemed satisfied. He turned his attention to the lawman. “Give the boy a horse so he can return to his village.”

A horse was quickly brought out. The boy looked at the animal with misgivings. He had never been on a horse before. The band of soldiers moved to the edge of the town, with the exception of the man in charge.

Events were happening so quickly that the boy had a hard time grasping the fact that he was leaving. He glanced over to the stocks where he had so recently been confined. The older boy, still confined, had blood dripping from his mouth. He walked over to him.

The older boy looked up at him, dazed. There was little room for compassion in this harsh world, but the older boy would make one request of this one whom was so obviously blessed. He swallowed hard and sought to wet his tongue so he could speak. He finally croaked out the words.

“Please kill me.”

The boy looked down at the young man who was only slightly older than him. He clenched his jaw and felt a despair settle over him.

The man in charge nudged his horse and it moved next to the boy. He drew his long sword out of its sheath and offered it hilt first to the boy. There was harsh amusement in his eyes.

The boy took the sword; it was heavy, but not too heavy. He glanced down at the youth in the stockade, took a deep breath and hefted the sword over his head. With one swift motion he sliced downward. The sword flashed through the air and cut the youth’s head off.

The boy stared at the blood on the sword, feeling lightheaded. He walked to the woman still holding the broomstick in her hand. He raised the sword and she cringed backward. But he only grabbed the cloth of her rough dress and wiped the sword clean.

He walked back to the man and handed him his sword, hilt first. The man looked down at him with an indecipherable expression, but the boy sensed his actions had been unexpected, and had met with approval.

He struggled to pull himself on the horse and the man slapped the horse’s rump before he was completely settled. The horse bolted for the edge of town and the man watched him until he was completely out of sight. Then, without a glance at the townspeople, the man rejoined his band and they rode off in the opposite direction.

Hans was surprised to see his son. He was pleased because the boy could return to work. The horse, also, was a welcome addition.

There was much gossip about the village at his return. It was whispered that he may have escaped punishment on earth, but would surely face punishment in the hereafter. The boy did not care. He did not share his story with anyone, not even his mother. She did not ask.

Few in the village would have anything to do with the boy, but again, he did not care. He was more than willing to spend his time alone. Only the small girl would approach him, and only she was allowed to intrude on his thoughts. She did not smile or speak, but she would bring him water when he was thirsty, and fix him food.

CHAPTER 10

SUSAN EXAMINED THE MARKERS in the blood panel in front of her. After ensuring the blood sample from the lab downstairs would be destroyed, she obtained a new sample from her patient. She confirmed the presence of both the enzyme and the antibodies, and made several interesting discoveries herself.

The woman had no detectable levels of testosterone or estrogen. Her GH, or growth hormone, levels were off the record. She had glutathione present in unbelievable levels, and blood creatine present in staggering amounts. Any one of these things would have been strange, but together they began to form an astounding picture.

Susan had no explanation for the woman’s accelerated healing, but if she wanted to create a person with such an ability, an abundance of easily obtainable, self-generated vitamin C would definitely be the starting point. Vitamin C aided in the production of collagen, a type of biological “glue” that held everything in the body together. That could begin to explain the repair of the skin. Glutathione was another antioxidant with disease-fighting properties similar to those of vitamin C.

Growth hormone and creatine were more involved with strength than with healing, although theoretically they would aid in that as well. Under normal circumstances, the purpose of growth hormone was pretty straightforward: it made children grow. In adults, it was regenerated primarily in sleep and was responsible for muscle hypertrophy, or an increase in muscle size. Susan had heard of bodybuilders and athletes using GH to build muscle or enhance performance, sometimes with horrible side effects. But she had never seen anyone with the levels this woman had. Creatine had a similar strength-enhancing function. It was crucial in converting ADP to ATP, an energy conversion process responsible for all muscle contraction.

In short, the woman was a pharmacological wonder and had a blood profile the most expensive steroids in the world couldn’t buy.

Susan could see the body out of the corner of her eye. She glanced up, staring at the patient through the window. Nothing about the patient seemed different, so she glanced back down at the work in front of her. Something was nagging at her, however, and she peered through the window at the still body. She stared for a long moment, unable to discern what was attracting her attention.

And then her heart stopped.

The sheet covering the woman’s chest very slowly rose then settled once more. Susan wasn’t certain what she had just seen and held her own breath until she saw the sheet begin to rise again. She glanced over at the monitors. They had started registering respirations a few moments ago.

Susan very slowly stood up. She was frightened, but not certain why. Wasn’t this what she was waiting for? Wasn’t this what she had been working towards? Isn’t this what she should have expected?

She stared through the window. “Waiting” was one thing; actually getting what you were waiting for was quite another. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her irrational fears.

Almost like a child daring herself, Susan moved to the door. She hesitated only a brief moment, then unlocked it and stepped into the room beyond.

The quiet in the room was eerie. Susan had been alone in the control booth, but it had been filled with the hum of the monitors, the various beeps of the computer, and her own noise of movement.

But this room was tomb-like in its silence. The only sound was the scrape of the sheet against itself as the woman’s chest slowly rose, then fell. The utter stillness seemed to magnify this only motion in the room.

Susan tried to be clinical about this observation. The woman’s respirations were shallow and far apart, but she did appear to be breathing regularly.

 Susan took a step forward, then stopped. She took a deep breath herself, her exhalation loud in the silence. She braced herself to take another step.

The shrill, steady beep came forth so loud in the silence that she stifled a scream. She clutched her hand to her chest, then turned in panic as EKG chattered to life behind her. The display went from flatline to a pattern of steady, jagged peaks.

Susan froze. The woman’s heartbeat was fast and erratic and seemed to boom in the stillness of the room. Strangely, the heartbeat was out of sync with the EKG, and it took Susan a moment to realize it was her own heartbeat she was hearing, not that of the sleeping woman. She took a deep breath, calming herself and the heartbeat receded. The only sound in the room was the slow, steady beep of the EKG.

The woman did not move, but her eyes twitched. Susan’s heart rate jumped back up and she had the terrifying impression the woman was going to open her eyes. But instead, the eyes began their rhythmic pulsing that signified the woman was dreaming.

The boy was working with his father at the anvil. His mother and the small girl were out in the fields. He glanced up occasionally in their direction, but he could not see them because they were too far.

A cloud of dust attracted his attention. It seemed to be heading in the direction of his mother and the girl. He watched with concern and finally removed the blacksmith’s apron he was wearing. He began trotting, then running in that direction.

He crested the hill in time to see the band of horses circling the two women. The boy’s mother clutched the girl to her breast. Both women were terrified and the boy felt his anger burn. The men weren’t hurting them but their laughter infuriated him.

He ran into the path of one of the horses and it reared, throwing its rider to the ground. The boy kicked the man in the head and continued running towards his mother. With a great leap he tackled another man off his horse. He took the man’s sword and stood holding it awkwardly.

A handsome young man raised his hand and the men came to a halt.

“Look, the whelp wants to fight.”

It took the boy a moment to recognize the man. It had been many years before when he had been hiding in a tree. This man had been waved away by another, and he had stalked away in anger. The boy wondered why he had returned.

“Teach him a lesson, Derek.”

Derek dismounted from his horse and unsheathed his sword. “Come and play with me, boy.”

It was clear Derek did not take the boy seriously as he held his sword loosely in his hand. The boy sprang forward with surprising speed, and although untrained, struck with surprising force. Derek barely brought his sword up to parry and was unprepared for the boy’s counter. A trickle of blood appeared on his arm.

Derek was furious. “You little bastard.”

He sprang forward and the boy countered his attack. Derek was once more surprised by the boy’s strength and growing angrier each passing moment. His men were beginning to laugh at him, taunting.

Derek sprang forward with a feint that the boy went for. Realizing he had overcommitted, the boy struggled to block the next blow that glanced off his sword and nicked his collarbone. Infuriated by the pain, the boy struck out, this time slicing Derek’s other arm.

The men laughed heartily at this slight, and Derek went into a mad rage. He delivered a flurry of blows that the boy struggled to counter, moving backward. He tripped over a root and went down, losing his grip on the sword. Derek smashed the sword from his hand and the boy raised his arms in front of his face in a vain attempt to block the oncoming blow.

The sword came flashing down but instead of meeting flesh it met cold steel. The boy glanced up, his eyes adjusting as the horse moved and its shadow covered him.

The Man was seated on the horse, and there was a cold fury in his eyes. But the fury was not directed at him, it was directed at Derek.

Derek dropped his sword and fell to his knees. “Forgive me, my lord. I wasn’t going to hurt the boy.”

The boy took that instant to scramble to his feet, away from the hooves of the horse. The Man turned the sword on him, placing the tip just beneath his chin and forcing him to look up.

The boy stared up at the man and the man carefully examined him. His eyes were drawn to the trickle of blood on the boy’s shoulder and there was a flicker of something in his black eyes.

The boy pushed the sword away from his chin. “I will not yield to you,” he said defiantly.

The man sheathed his sword, amusement in his voice. “You already have.”

Nearly faster than the boy could see, the man reached down and grasped his loose cotton shirt. With one hand he lifted the boy off the ground and placed him in front of him on the horse.

Derek was still on the ground on his knees so the man spoke to his second-in-command. “Make sure the woman and the girl receive safe passage to their village.”