Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan Part 5

The priest went to salve his wounded pride with a skin of wine. He was joined by two of his a.s.sociates; rough, brutal men, filthy in both mind and body. They didn't care for the priest any more than they cared for anyone else, or indeed, even each other. But they hovered about him on the occasion when it would serve their interests. He had wine on this evening, which was one of their interests.

The three men sprawled on the rough benches, becoming drunker as the evening progressed. They spoke loudly of foul things, each trying to outdo one another in their crude fas.h.i.+on. The priest was actually winning this rude contest when he spotted a young girl scurrying across the street to her hut. He sat forward; she was at least six seasons, old enough.

"You there!"

The girl stopped fearfully, torn between the doorway to her hut that was so close, and the commanding tone of the priest.

"Come here!"

The girl looked longingly at her mother who stood anxiously in the doorway. Her father appeared and pushed the woman back inside. He looked sternly at the girl and waved her on to the priest. He disappeared into the hut, pulling the cover closed behind him.

"Girl, I said come here!"

The child felt fear and despair as she reluctantly obeyed the priest.

The two men with the priest leered at the little girl. This was the best part of befriending the priest. The one missing the better part of his teeth grinned widely as he felt the hardness between his legs.

The little girl watched the man grope himself and turned to flee. The priest reached out to grab her, catching only her s.h.i.+ft which ripped loose in his hand. He laughed loudly as the now-naked girl ran for the barn.

The three drunken men chased her, laughing merrily. "First one to her gets to break her!" shouted the drunker of the two men.

It was surely a measure of the men's drunkenness that the fat priest nearly caught her first. But it was the toothless one who grabbed the little girl's ankle, tripping her up as she entered the barn. He fell upon her, his weight easily pinning her. His foul breath filled the girl's nostrils as he struggled with the rope at his waist. He pulled his organ free and with a shout of victory, grabbed the girl's shoulders and thrust forward.

It was an act he would never complete as his face exploded into blood and bone fragments. He went backward off the girl as she screamed, his neck at an odd angle. He was dead before he touched the ground, his spine snapped just below the base of his skull.

The boy moved from the shadows, holding the now-bloodied garden spade in his hand. The second man was stunned. This boy, who could not be more than 13 seasons, had nearly decapitated his friend with little more than a farming tool.

The boy turned towards the priest, who was standing there with his now-flaccid member in his hand. The sight and smell of the dead man's blood excited and enraged the boy. He knew he could probably kill the other two men with few repercussions, but the priest he could not touch.

It did not matter to him as he thrust the metal tool straight through the priest's heart. The priest's shocked expression was almost comical as he collapsed to the ground, dead.

The little girl fled screaming from the barn and the other man stared at the boy in horror. "You've killed a man of G.o.d," he said, backing away from him, "you're d.a.m.ned forever!" He himself ran screaming from the barn, terrified of the abomination behind him.

The boy knew he should go after the man. Whatever protection had been afforded him up until this time surely had run out. But he was suddenly tired, drained by the rush the killing had given him. He dropped his weapon and stumbled out into the cool night air, collapsing in the wet gra.s.s.

They came for him the next morning, the clergy and the soldiers from the next town. He was bound and placed on the back of an a.s.s, and did not get the chance to say farewell to his mother who stood in the doorway as he was taken away. She knew she would never see her son again.

The men treated him roughly and he was hungry and thirsty by the time he reached the town by midday. He had never been to this town, or indeed, any town. He had never been anywhere outside his own village and it was surprising to see the number of strange faces. There was a growing crowd as his hands and feet were placed in the stocks.

He glanced to his left. A man was pinned there, alive but with his head hanging down and his swollen tongue protruding from his mouth. His stench was nearly unbearable as both his hands and feet were rotting off. The boy turned to his right where another young man, perhaps a few seasons older than himself, was confined. He had not been there as long but the skin on his face was beginning to crack and peel from the constant exposure.

The boy turned his attention to the crowd. They looked at him with a kind of malicious glee, hoping his sentence would be carried out immediately. When it was not to be, they expressed their disappointment by throwing rocks and whatever objects they could find at the three prisoners. One young man even defecated in the street then picked up his own excrement and threw it at the stockade.

The boy was glad it hit the prisoner to his right and not him, but he was left with the stench of the feces and the rotting vegetables as the crowd tired and left the three in their misery.

The boy did not want to talk to either of his companions. The man to his left occasionally shouted out in delirium, but beyond that it was largely quiet in the town square. The boy began to cramp in the awkward position and tried to s.h.i.+ft his weight, but it was no good. The cuts and scratches he had received from the thrown objects began to itch as the blood mingled with his sweat.

Finally the unrelenting heat began to diminish as the shadows lengthened. The older boy to his right began to fidget in fear and he wondered what could be worse than what they had already endured.

He quickly found out as a group of leering men stumbled over to their location.

"Are you sure we can't have the pretty one? I'm sure he wouldn't mind too much."

Another man punched the first good-naturedly, but with warning. "No, can't touch that one. He's a priest-killer anyway. You don't want to b.u.g.g.e.r the d.a.m.ned."

The man moved behind the boy and smacked him on his rear. "I don't know, might be worth it."

The other man laughed uneasily and pulled him away from the boy. "Stop foolin', Tom, we got this one here."

The boy could not see what the men were doing behind him but he quickly pieced it together by the squeals of the boy next to him. The men, four or five at least, began to rape the older boy. They took turns and it was apparent from the different voices that others came and went. The boy next to him was slammed forward and back in his stocks as the men took him from behind.

The younger boy swallowed hard, feeling his backside cringe although he was not being touched. Although sympathy was deemed of little worth, he could not help but feel it for the other boy.

"Hey Nell! Too bad you don't have a tool, you could come over here and give us a hand, so to speak."

The men all laughed raucously at the joke and a female joined in. "I got the only tool I need right here."

The boy tried to look over his shoulder. The woman was just barely in his field of vision and was moving out of it as she came toward them. But not before he saw she held a broom in her hand.

The men laughed even louder at her crudeness. "Then by all means, m'lady, join us!"

There was a chorus of agreement. The boy could not see what was going on but knew the woman had indeed joined them when the older boy's squeals turned to screams and the laughter of the men increased.

The sound of hooves drowned out the laughter and a sharp crack of a whip elicited cries of pain from some of the men. The band scattered, angry and frightened.

The boy had no idea what was going on. A band of horses circled the stockade, creating a cloud of dust. The town lawman came stumbling out of the nearby pub with the local clergy in tow. "What's your business here!" he demanded.

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 compa.s.sion 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 compa.s.sion 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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 sc.r.a.pe 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 ap.r.o.n 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

He sprang forward and the boy countered his attack. Derek was once more surprised by the boy's strength and growing angrier each pa.s.sing 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 flas.h.i.+ng 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.