Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan Part 22

Susan was further surprised by the remark. Edward had never shown anything but unswerving loyalty to Ryan. The remark was not so much a criticism as an observation, but still, Susan had never heard him speak against her in any way. She had a sudden insight.

"You care for her a great deal, don't you?"

Edward's stiffness did not diminish in any way, but a fierce light burned in his eyes. "Ryan is my King. I live to serve her."

Susan was a little taken aback at the fierceness of his reply, but she nodded. She was struck by the incongruous t.i.tle. "Queen" would have seemed more appropriate for Ryan's s.e.x, yet somehow less appropriate for Ryan.

Jason seemed to have processed Ryan's androgyny with little difficulty. "I want her to be my King, too."

Edward looked down at the boy, and for the first time gazed at him with something akin to approval. "I think Ryan would commend you as a subject." Jason smiled happily, then pushed himself off Susan's lap to run and find his puppy. Edward turned back to Susan. "Although your presence here is problematic."

Susan bristled. "Problematic? Remember, we are not here by choice. It was Ryan's decision to bring us here."

Edward's face remained impa.s.sive. "And a wise decision it was. At least your presence here guarantees she will no longer place herself in danger trying to protect you."

Susan could not disguise her sarcasm. "I find it difficult to believe that Ryan is in danger from anything."

Edward glanced out the window toward the toppled oak tree. Several gardeners were already removing the debris. "Perhaps endangered is not the appropriate expression. You have placed her at a strategic disadvantage."

Susan was angry. "What do you mean by that?"

Edward turned to her and his reproach was evident. "You set a chain of events in motion when you published your work. Ryan has no equals; she has no weaknesses. You," he said emphatically, "are now her weakness."

Susan stood up. "I don't have to listen to this."

But Edward stood up as well, firmly grasping her elbow. "Listen to me, Dr. Ryerson."

The urgency in his voice made Susan pause.

"I encouraged Ryan to kill you, but she would not because she felt sympathy for your son. Now I believe she holds a certain fondness for you. That does not change the fact that you are a liability to her."

Susan pulled her arm away. She stood up to her full height, although she was still considerably shorter than he was.

"My son and I are ready to leave anytime you wish to disobey your *master'," she said cuttingly.

She turned on her heel and stormed from the room. Edward watched her retreating back, his face impa.s.sive.

Ryan knocked on Susan's door several hours later. Susan let her in, noting something odd about Ryan's appearance. She finally realized what it was. Ryan looked tired.

"Is Jason all right?" Ryan asked.

Susan motioned for her to come in. "Yes," she said, "in fact, he's ready to swear his undying loyalty to you."

Ryan smiled, running her hand through her hair. The gesture was so uncharacteristic, it made Ryan look even younger than the 19 years she had claimed at one time.

"I understand you and Edward exchanged words."

"Ah yes," Susan said. She sat down. "He feels that we are a *liability' of sorts."

Ryan sat down as well. "That does not surprise me. That's the lawyer in him talking."

Susan was surprised. "Edward is a lawyer?"

Ryan nodded. "Oh yes, Edward is many things to me. But he's primarily my attorney. He runs my business affairs and my estate. He is quite excellent, and knows more about the law than any person on this planet."

Susan digested this information and Ryan continued. "I used to be a lawyer."

This seemed to be some sort of private joke to Ryan.

"What do you mean by that?" Susan asked.

"When I was young, it was very common to challenge witnesses by battle. You could literally accuse someone of lying, and if you beat them in combat, then they were lying. On the other hand, if you lost, then you were lying. Truth had very little to do with it." Ryan was thoughtful. "The legal system really hasn't changed that much."

"And how were you involved in this?"

Ryan leaned over and picked up an elaborate letter opener from the table between them. She hefted the weight of it in her hand.

"It was quite lucrative to freelance as a *champion of truth,' if you will. All of justice became a fight between mercenaries. Those who could hire the best mercenaries, those were the ones justice favored." Ryan replaced the letter opener. "Like I said, things haven't changed that much."

Ryan glanced around the room. She saw a rosary lying on the nightstand. "You're not catholic, are you?"

"Yes," Susan admitted, "actually I am, though not practicing. I had a strict religious upbringing that I rebelled against when I married. My husband was Protestant."

Ryan stood up. "You could have been killed for that years ago," she said, walking to the nightstand. She picked up the rosary, fingering the beads in her hand. "I met a pope once," she murmured.

This was more than enough to attract Susan's attention and her next words even more so.

"And I killed his son."

Susan was too uncertain at her words to be shocked. "How could the pope have a son? Don't they take vows of celibacy?"

Ryan turned to Susan and her eyes were dark with devilish laughter and perhaps a little scorn. "You don't know much about the history of the catholic church, do you?"

Susan tried to hide her defensiveness. "Well, it's not that. It's just that it's hard for me to think of the Pope as having a son."

Ryan clicked the beads together in her hand. "Well, this particular Pope had at least two sons, and a daughter, and probably many more that he didn't know about. In all my very long life, he was one of the most perverse individuals I ever met, as were his children."

Susan was in disbelief, but curious all the same. "Why did you kill his son?"

Ryan replaced the rosary, thoughtful once more. "Cesare was a vicious and evil-tempered man, which in itself was not unusual. It was rumored he killed his own brother out of jealousy over his sister."

Susan was shocked. "They were lovers?"

"Oh yes. Unfortunately, his sister took a particular liking to me, an infatuation that continued for several years. Cesare finally attempted to ambush me in a back-alley fight, and I ended up killing him."

Ryan did not appear too upset by this ending and in fact, recounted it almost as if it were a fond memory. "Poor Cesare," she said without the slightest bit of sympathy.

Susan stared at the tall woman with her back to her. It was times like these when she suddenly saw Ryan in a new light. She could see how some young girl could be infatuated by such a figure, a creature with such mesmerizing qualities. Poor Cesare indeed.

Ryan left Susan to her own devices and on a whim, Susan went to the computer Edward had provided her. She turned the machine on and brought the on-line encyclopedia to the screen. She was thoughtful for a moment, then began her search, typing in the information.

"Let's try *Popes'."

This brought 87 different matches, so she narrowed her search by time. "Let's try 1300-1600."

That narrowed the search further. Susan paused for a moment, then on a guess, she linked the search to the name Ryan had used, "Cesare."

To her surprise, she got an immediate hit and brought the information up on screen. She began to read aloud.

"Cesare Borgia, Cardinal, son of Pope Alexander the VI. Brother to the infamous Lucrezia Borgia..."

Susan stopped for a moment. Now that was certainly a name she recognized, although she had always thought the stories were exaggerations. She was stunned. Was that the sister Ryan was talking about who had become infatuated with her? She continued reading.

"Cesare Borgia was a violent and bloodthirsty man who met his demise in sordid circ.u.mstances in the first part of the 16th century. It is unknown exactly how Cesare was killed, but it is speculated he died in a bar room brawl."

Susan paused for a moment, then kept reading. "Cesare is best known for the deviance surrounding his family, but also is recognized as the model for *Il Principe'."

Susan switched off the machine and sat back, staring at the darkened screen. Ryan had certainly told an interesting story this time. If what she had said was true, Ryan had killed the man whom Machiavelli had immortalized in "The Prince."

Ryan walked into the great room of her mansion. A low fire was burning in the hearth. She settled into the large, comfortable couch, feeling the vaguest sense of ennui.

That was the worst part about being who she was, she thought, the occasional lapse into boredom. For many of their Kind it was much worse, and as time went on they would go stark raving mad. Fortunately, those who were most affected by this boredom were also the weakest. They could still be killed before they became a liability.

Ryan could do anything she wished, could go anywhere she wanted, could have anything in the world. She had wealth beyond imagination that continued to compound over decades, then over centuries. She could move the course of entire economies if she wished, and could bring governments to their knees. It was a power that many longed for. It was a power Ryan cared little about.

The truth of the matter was Ryan was rarely bored. She was interested in almost everything, and in those times when she could find little to occupy her time, she could spend time in her Memories, or time thinking about the future. She hoped she would one day travel to the stars.

She stared into the fire, her countenance darkening. That was if these idiots did not destroy themselves first. She had never been much concerned with the ebb and flow of human events until they had taken on such a global scale. Ryan was fairly certain she could survive a nuclear war, but wasn't certain she would want to.

Despite her outward detachment, Ryan had grown increasingly angry at this race of people. Human beings were short-sighted because they were short-lived. They were unwilling to make changes that would not benefit them in their lifetimes, indeed, would not benefit them immediately.

They were nearly incapable of truly great change unless it was thrust upon them, and each generation acted as if it were the first on earth. Each generation also acted as if they were the last, compounding the misery of future generations.

Ryan wondered if humans would treat the earth the way they did if they were to live as long as she, forced to reap what they sowed.

It seemed to go beyond shortsightedness, however. Human beings seemed incapable of grasping simple cause-and-effect when it occurred over any length of time. Ryan could feel the changes in the environment that had occurred over the last hundred years. She could feel the increased electromagnetic frequency in the air because it had not existed for much of her life. She could also feel her body adapt to it. She knew that humans would not adapt as well, if at all.

She could feel the increased virulence of diseases, the strength of infections. She could feel her immune system take on more and more powerful predators. She could feel many changes that her system adapted to effortlessly, and watched as humans began to blindly die from things that had not existed when she was a child.

Humans were overwhelmed by time, which stretched reality beyond their capacity to see. They continually drew erroneous conclusions from the simplest of data, then completely missed the obvious. They were incapable of thinking about the way they thought. They lived with the specter of death, oblivious to it. They were driven by greed, which made no sense to Ryan as none seemed to live long enough to enjoy the fruits of it.

Ryan switched on the large-screen television at the end of the room. She rarely watched it because it appeared as little more than colored dots to her. Her mind worked entirely too fast to blend the pixels into a single picture. Films were even worse as she could actually see the frames going by. But she would occasionally turn on the set and, if she turned her head at just the right angle, she could form a picture out of her peripheral vision.

A national news program sent Ryan back to her musing. Humans were frightened of the spectacular and the extraordinary, but they died from the mundane.

Ryan thought of Susan Ryerson, fighting her diseases. Once Susan grasped the fact that Ryan was truly immortal, would she long for such an immortality herself? The fact that she had already asked Ryan the question about being able to see her Memories told Ryan the thought had already crossed Susan's mind. Ryan could not Change Susan; she was too powerful. Not even Edward could do it. Although 400 years younger than she, he was still considered an Old One. Ryan could have it arranged, however, but that would entail contacting the Others.

Ryan's countenance darkened again. She didn't want to think of that.

Her thoughts returned to Susan. Ryan had spent much of the last two centuries alone, yet had not been lonely. She did not normally cultivate human companions.h.i.+p because humans changed, they grew old and they died. But Susan Ryerson had stumbled into her life and Ryan felt a certain responsibility to her and her son.

Ryan chastised herself. It went beyond responsibility. She had to admit she was beginning to enjoy the woman's company. Ryan had never Changed anyone and thus had no offspring. With the possible exception of Marilyn, she had no equals amongst her Kind and did not encourage their company. Susan Ryerson was possibly the closest thing to a friend she had ever had.

Ryan entertained that pleasant thought for awhile, trying and failing to ignore a far less pleasant reality. Edward was correct. If Ryan befriended Susan Ryerson, then she had inherited a liability.

Although Ryan was invulnerable, Susan Ryerson and her young son were not.

This thought was met with deep foreboding. Ryan had been placed in that situation before, and it had not turned out well.

CHAPTER 26.

RYAN STRODE THROUGH THE FOREST, enjoying an odd sense of freedom. She had set out several months ago at Victor's suggestion. He had sensed her restlessness and suggested she travel as he was occupied with business affairs. She packed little and set out the next day.

She was not certain where she was, indeed, was not even certain what country she was in. She was fairly sure she had pa.s.sed from France into the Holy Roman Empire, but there were few maps available as accurate as her own sense of direction.

It was a simple matter for Ryan to travel. Needing few supplies and little sleep, she could cover large distances without stopping. She traveled on foot because a horse would only slow her down, needing both food and water. She generally slept under the stars, unafraid of wild animals or outlaws. She carried papers indicating her ident.i.ty as an English n.o.ble, and enough gold in a pouch to purchase several small villages.

She carried a sword and dagger, eschewing pistols and gunpowder. It had been her experience she could dispatch far more men with the former without ever having to reload. She also carried a bow and quiver of arrows. The arrows had been specially made, designed with an extremely hard wood and sharp flints. Ryan could drive one through a tree if the shaft of the arrow did not snap.

Ryan glanced up at the sun filtering through the trees. She was extremely attuned to cues of light and could identify both time of day and season if she had a fair idea of her location. Ryan shrugged. Not that it ever mattered.

Ryan suddenly stopped, her senses straining the forest in front of her. The breeze had s.h.i.+fted and she caught the wisps of distant odors. She smelled smoke and fecal matter, indicating there was probably a village miles ahead. She could also hear the vaguest hum of voices, although she was still too far away to make anything out.

She started in the direction of the distant village and then stopped. She c.o.c.ked her head to one side. There was something else, a strange, metallic odor she had not smelled since battle. She grasped the hilt of her sword out of habit and started through the forest once more.

The voices became clearer and the odors became stronger as she neared the village. The smell she was most concerned with came from north of the village, however, and she changed course.

Ryan stepped from the trees into the edge of a clearing, her mind having difficulty grasping what she was seeing.

Dozens and dozens of stakes were driven into the ground and bodies hung from the stakes in various grotesque positions. Limbs were askew, broken in multiple places. Heads hung limply from necks that had been snapped in a hanging. Intestines hung from opened body cavities and blackened skin bore the marks of torture.

Ryan stood there trying to comprehend what she was seeing. She had been witness to many horrors in war, and had been responsible for perpetrating just as many. But she had never seen anything like the scene before her.

The bodies were all children.

Infants, toddlers, youths, young girls, none of who looked to be older than 13 or 14 years.

Ryan moved into the clearing, walking between the rows of stakes. The smell was hideous, decaying, rotting flesh and fecal matter from the disembowelments. Blood, some dried and some not, was everywhere. Birds of prey feasted, insolently disregarding Ryan's presence.

Ryan mentally counted the bodies, and stopped when she wished to count no more. There were nearly thirty bodies in the field.