Saving Blood

By C. B. Lacey

In the shadow of an ancient temple, on a planet far from Earth, an old man is killed by his friends. Moments later, he returns as a young boy. This is the cycle of death and life for the immortal Lords of Gudta, who have ruled for a thousand years. But now, just as their rule is being challenged from all quarters, someone else enters this world, threatening to change everything. Searching for his missing son, Liam becomes immersed in a society full of secret technology, political intrigue, superstitious religion, alien beings, and questionable motives. Will Liam find his son, before this world falls apart?"
Saving Blood" is the first book in a sci-fi fantasy adventure series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. B. Lacey
• Release date: Apr 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463085714

C. B. Lacey

I was born in east Belfast, Northern Ireland, and currently live in north Belfast. During my life I've also lived in Ballymena, South Belfast, and Dublin. I'm married and have two children, two cats, and two dogs. I'm interested in religion, archaeology, history, and linguistics.

Book preview

This book is dedicated to my wife, Laura,

and our two children, Dylan and Amelie,

for whom I would go to the ends of the earth,

and beyond.

First published in 2019.

This second edition published in 2021.

Copyright © Colin Lacey, 2019.

The right of Colin Lacey to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.  Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

PROLOGUE

You don’t think this world is real, because your wife is being too nice.

I watched the doctor’s lips open and close as he spoke.  They smacked together; his mouth was dry.  He hadn’t shaven that morning; a few miniscule crumbs loitered on the stubble on his chin.  I raised my eyebrows just enough to signal my affirmation. 

Yes, I replied.  That about sums it up.

He scratched his remarks onto a leather-bound notepad; the black ink tattooing the page with his boil-in-the-bag psychological observations.  Without lifting his head, he focussed his gaze on me just long enough for me to know that a question was formulating in his mind.

Do you think it’s uncharacteristic for a wife to care for her husband? he asked.  "In sickness and in health?"

You’ve clearly never been married, I said. 

He clicked closed the nib of his silver pen and set it on the dark oak table in front of him.  Liam, the loss of your son has impacted everyone who loved him.  Not just yourself.  You need to consider your family’s feelings.

My son isn’t lost, I said. 

Your wife is coping with her grief in her own way, he continued.  It may be fair to say that she is mourning the loss of her husband, as well as her son.  And yet, from what you have told me, she should be given credit for being willing to set aside her own grief in order to care for you.

You don’t know her, then.  She wouldn’t do that, I said, amused by the thought.  "If that thing were really my wife, she’d be devastated if anything happened to our son."

The doctor took a few slow, deep breaths through his nostrils, keeping his eyes locked on my own for a moment, before picking up a bundle of papers on his desk and thumbing through them with barely concealed contempt.  I had asked you to record a diary of your feelings.  This is more akin to a science fiction novel.

You told me to be truthful.  What I’ve written is exactly what happened.

He raised his eyebrows.  "Whilst searching for your missing son, you inadvertently followed him through some kind of portal… which transported you to another planet?"

That’s right, I said. 

He glanced over the last few pages and then let the whole document fall unceremoniously onto the desk with a dull thud.  "You seem to know the inner thoughts and feelings of the other people in your story.  That’s what makes this fiction.  If this were reality, how would you know?"

I shrugged, as much as the straight-jacket would allow me to.  I just know.

He tried but failed to hide a smirk.  "Do you know what I’m thinking?"

I chose not to answer.  As real as he seemed, he was nothing more than a simulation of a psychiatrist, based upon how I imagined one to look and behave.  Conversing with him served only to prolong the charade. 

Look, Liam, he said, forcing himself to smile.  We all admire your strength of will, but there’s a fine line between determination and stubbornness.

Just open the door, and let me go back, I said.  I can find him.

But you said he wasn’t lost.

I know where he is.

And where is that? he asked, unable to contain a smug smile.

Read it, I said, nodding towards the papers on his desk.  And find out.

ONE

Day One: Joppignon, Masana

It was cold, but Jothem didn’t feel it. 

Lying on a wooden stretcher, supported effortlessly on the shoulders of eight stout pallbearers, he stared vacantly through failing eyes at the night sky above, pondering immortality.  It had been almost eighty years since he had last done so, but now – in the one thousandth year of his reign – he had reason to doubt his future. 

Turning his head, he saw the stars casting the shadow of the forest across the clearing through which the soldiers marched.  With a single drumbeat keeping the rhythm of the procession, they crossed the narrow causeway towards the ancient temple.  Firelight from their torches illuminated Jothem’s long, white hair and red robes, whilst the dancing silhouettes of the flames on his sunken cheeks amplified his deathly pallor. 

As they approached the edifice, a horn was blown.  The soldiers stopped, forming a guard of honour through which the old man was carried towards the four pillars, each twenty feet tall, creating the appearance of three openings.  Jothem was gently set down in the centre. 

From within, two figures appeared, both wearing similar red robes.  Standing in the opening to the left was Jaidon.  A man in his sixties, tall and slender, he straightened his back and raised his voice, Esen gar al staédipp, al ibb las! – Even if we die, we will live! 

On the right was Peir, a much younger man with piercing blue eyes and blond hair.  With as much sincerity as he could feign, he repeated the words. 

The sound of the horn echoed around the clearing once again as the two lords knelt beside Jothem, each placing one hand on the old man’s shoulders, and holding a dagger in the other. 

See you soon, old friend, said Jaidon.  With no hint of malice, he hovered the blade over Jothem’s heart and then pierced his feeble body.  Feeling neither pain nor discomfort, the old man neither moved nor made a sound.  He watched as Peir then plunged his own dagger into his belly, twisting it ever so subtly. 

The two men stood up again and stepped backwards, whilst four attendants came forward carrying a heavy, black, velvet cloth, draping it over Jothem’s head and body. 

Under its weight, his already shallow breath became laboured.  He closed his eyes, and within seconds the lack of light became the lack of life. 

The attendants stared intently in silent shock as the cloth sank inwards, leaving only the shape of the empty stretcher. 

With an air of relief, Jaidon turned and led Peir and the attendants farther inside the temple, through its long, wide corridor, until they reached two large, beige double doors at the far end. 

Now we wait, he said to Peir.

All eyes were fixed upon the double doors - in hopeful and fearful expectation of who might come through. 

TWO

Day One: Joppignon, Masana

My back was sore, my neck was stiff, and my mouth was dry.  Had I just woken from a deep sleep?  What had I been doing?  Where was this place?  Was I dead?  The sterile smell and the excruciatingly bright displays on the walls suggested otherwise. 

The pain in my gut became unbearable and I dropped to my knees.  Covering my mouth, I swallowed hard to resist the nausea. 

Fighting my disorientation, I placed one hand on the wall to steady myself and made my way cautiously out into a corridor in which there were four other doors.  At the far end were large double doors which looked like an emergency exit.  There were no handles on any of them.  I pushed the one nearest to me, but it didn’t move. 

Hello! I attempted to shout, but my throat was dry and hoarse.  Hello! I repeated, banging the door.  I pressed my ear to it and listened for any sign of life beyond.  Other than a low-level hum, there were no discernible noises.  I went to the next door and listened again.  Nothing.  The same with the next. 

Not far from the double doors, there was a panel at head height on the wall, with a small square of light flashing beside it.  Instinctively, I pressed the light, and the panel slid away to reveal its contents:  a flat piece of glass, about four inches by three inches; a pen of some sorts; a coiled-up piece of grey metal, about two inches in diameter and an inch thick.  I put the pen and the metal coil in my pocket and set the glass back. 

As I took a few more steps towards the double doors, they slid apart quickly and quietly.  The artificial light from the corridor clashed with firelight coming from flaming torches in the gloomy cavern in front of me.  About half a dozen people – some dressed in white, but two wearing red - stood looking back at me.  Their facial expressions ranged from anticipation, confusion, disappointment, to outrage.  Evidently, my arrival was not what they had expected.  Uncertain of what to do, I half-waved and grunted an almost inaudible Hello? 

One of the men wearing red moved towards me slowly, whilst the others remained where they were, unsure of how to react.  One of the men in white was holding a small, red gown.  He followed the man-in-red, with the little gown draped over his two extended hands, as if intending to offer it to me.  The man-in-red gestured to him to go back, and he dutifully retreated. 

I remained standing in the doorway, whilst the man-in-red stood a few feet away, studying my face.  A stern looking man in his late sixties, he tilted his head slightly from side to side, as if trying to work out who I was.  "Ton ensor ooree eye," he said, or at least that’s what it sounded like.  From his intonation, it seemed to be a question.  I shook my head and shrugged.  My gut instinct was to walk back into the white corridor, but I stayed put. 

Who are you? asked the man, speaking English. 

Where am I?  What is this place?

At the sound of my voice, some of the people in white shirts fell to their knees and bowed their heads.  The man-in-red shot a glance sideways at them, and then returned his gaze to me, with a particular interest in my clothing.  Compared to the almost medieval tunics they were all wearing, my blue jeans and grey hoodie seemed entirely out of place. 

He moved closer until he was only an arm’s length away, but his attention was no longer on me; he was looking into the corridor behind me.  He raised his right hand and seemed to stroke the air under the doorframe as if he were touching something solid.  Are you alone? he asked.

I momentarily pondered how to respond.  Saying no would have made me feel more secure, but the truth rolled off my tongue.  Yes.

Catching me off guard, he grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the doorway, causing me to stumble forwards onto the sandy floor.  The double doors shut tight behind me, and the white light which had penetrated the chamber was now gone; only the torchlight illuminated the gloom. 

The man-in-red shouted something unintelligible, and the other men swarmed around me and strong-armed me through a large passageway and out into a forest clearing. 

In the darkness, there were dozens of men holding flaming torches in two long lines stretching out into the distance.  A huge man – practically a one-man army - came towards me. 

The last thing I remember was the pungent smell of his hand and the smirk on his face as he crashed his fist down on my head. 

THREE

Day One: Joppignon, Masana

After the commotion in the temple had died down, Jaidon and Peir waited again in front of the double doors. 

Peir stroked his clean-shaven chin.  Did you recognise him?  His voice was low, although most of the men around him would not have understood English. 

I’m not sure, replied Jaidon.  It wasn’t the first time that something unexpected had happened during the Wakening ceremony, although it was certainly a rare occurrence.  I’ll send a Sister to find out who he is. 

"Could he be another one?" Peir whispered.

Jaidon folded his arms.  His back was sore, and he was growing impatient.  He had little interest in hearing the paranoid theories that Peir had been spouting in recent weeks.  Now isn’t the time.

They stood in silence for five more minutes.  The monotony was broken only by a few gusts of wind which whipped the flaming torches into a frenzy. 

Without warning, the double doors opened for a second time, and the chamber again filled with bright light.  In the doorway was the silhouette of a small boy.  His arms lay limp at his sides.  His head was lowered. 

At last, muttered Jaidon, moving closer to the doorway.  The little boy’s eyes fixed upon him.  It’s all right.  You’re safe, said Jaidon, gently.  Don’t be frightened.  He dropped down on one knee, reached out a hand towards the boy, and smiled.  My name is Jaidon.  I know you don’t recognise me yet.  And I know you’re scared.  But I am your friend.  We have been good friends for many years.

Without raising his head fully, the boy looked at the man, and then glanced around at the others.  His eyes began to well up.  I want my mummy. 

Jaidon’s beckoning hand remained outstretched.  I know, he said.  If you come with me now, then perhaps we can find her. He tried to sound honest and reassuring. 

The little boy inched out of the doorway and stepped nervously towards him.  The doors slid shut, and the cavern plunged into relative darkness.  Still kneeling, Jaidon took him gently by the hand.  He studied his face and smiled.  The shape of his face, his eyes, even the way he stood – all of it was just as it should be.  I need you to trust me, he said.  I promise you will be OK.  The boy stared at him for a moment as if in a trance, and then nodded. 

Jaidon motioned to the attendant who was holding the small, red robe; he came forward and dutifully placed it over the boy’s shoulders.  It may have been intended to make the child look regal, but it looked odd over his jeans and t-shirt. 

Jaidon stood up and turned towards the other men who had fanned out in a semicircle around them.  "E’r aeiée’r andtigg nósó tírargó!" – here is your lord!  For the second time that night, they fell to their knees. 

Peir stepped forward and stood over the boy, looking down on him.  His tone was as cold as the night air.  Welcome back, Jothem.

FOUR

Day Two: Fort Golwayen, Masana

I could smell the warm sea air before I saw the reflection of the moonlight on the water.

On the other side of the bay was the silhouette of Mount Vesuvius and the twinkling streetlights of Naples.  Above me was a canopy decked out with hundreds of lights twinkling like little stars.  There was music and laughter all around.  Friends and family stood in the background, their attention focussed on my wife, tiptoeing towards me in her high heels, dressed in white silk with hints of gold.  She laughed – perhaps a little tipsy - as her foot nearly caught on something, but she held her arm out to me and placed her hand upon my shoulder; I held her close as we swayed to the gentle rhythm of our first dance.  She looked into my eyes and in a moment of perfect tenderness.  She smiled, and kissed me, and lay her head against my shoulder.  Is this real? I asked her, still moving slowly to the music.  She didn’t answer. 

The serene Italian backdrop faded away, and I was sitting in a chair in a hospital, next to an empty bed.  My wife was gone, and rather than feeling the clasp of her hand in mine, I now felt the texture of a blanket.  Inside was a new-born baby, staring at me through tiny eyes.  It was my son, Dylan, on the day he was born.  I won’t let go of you, I whispered to him.  I promise.

As I held him tight, everything around me faded into a grassy plain at sunrise on a crisp morning.  My hands were empty.  At the perimeter of the plain were enormous standing stones, and beside each one stood a person dressed in white, holding a flaming torch.  A young, fair-haired man with a familiar face, came and silently beckoned me to follow him.  He walked ahead of me into a circular, drystone building, led me around to the beige doors, and pointed for me to go in.  He stared intently as I moved past, and for a split second I recognised his eyes as my son’s.  I stopped and reached out for him, pulling him close to me.

But he was no longer my son.  He was my father, and my head was resting on his shoulder, as I lay limp in his protective arms.  Half-hearing his sweetly soothing words, we swayed gently as he climbed the stairs towards my bedroom.  I snuggled into him; I was content; I was safe.  With one easy movement, he swung me lower onto my bed, where he would tuck me in and kiss me goodnight. 

I felt the pain first in my shoulder, and then along my right arm and across my back.  The bed was cold and rock hard.  I opened my eyes, expecting the see my father anxious to comfort me, but all I could see in the dim light were feet shuffling away.  The door was slammed shut and then locked.  This wasn’t my home.  I was lying on a dirty stone floor. 

With considerable effort, I sat up and tried to figure out where I was.  The only source of light came from around the edges of the door.  As my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, I could make out that the room I was in was only about six square feet.  The walls felt like they were made of brick, but they were damp and crumbled easily in places.  There was a pungent smell; I grimaced and put one hand over my mouth and nose as I became aware of it.  I tried to stand up, but my legs were weak.  Dragging myself over to the door, I pushed and pulled at it, but it didn’t budge.  There were voices on the other side, but nothing discernible. 

I shuffled to the corner and leaned against the wall.  It was very cold.  Pulling my knees up under my chin, I wrapped my arms around my legs to conserve some heat.  My head was pounding.  My throat was dry and there was a weird taste in my mouth. 

For what felt like days, I drifted in and out of sleep.  I was given no food or water, and nobody came to check on me.  Occasionally, I wet my lips and tongue with trickles of water that came through small cracks in the wall.  My guts were twisted with hunger.  Unable to stand up for more than a few minutes without feeling sick, I spent most of the time humming softly until sleep gave me temporary respite from reality.

Water splashed over my face and woke me from my semi-conscious slumber.  I was now in a different room.  My arms were stretched upwards, bound by ropes to a beam in the ceiling.  My shoulders were aching.

The skin on the side of my legs and back was getting hot, and I realised I was naked.  After the coldness of the cell that I had been in, the searing heat from the nearby fireplace felt relatively soothing.

There were three men in the room staring at me: Two of them, wearing pale blue gowns, were small and weak looking.  Although I was the one who was naked and bound, it was they who looked scared.

The third man, dressed in grey, was much more physically intimidating.  He said something to me, but his words were gibberish.  I stared blankly at him.  Presumably repeating himself, he spoke again, but this time in broken English.  What is name of you? 

Liam, I answered, causing one of the men-in-blue to write something down.

"Lee-yum, repeated the man in grey, emphasising each syllable.  Kwint is the name of me.  He looked all over my body, seemingly fascinated.  You talk the words of First.  Are you First?" he asked.

I would have shrugged if I could, so instead I just furrowed my eyebrows and shook my head; it was the only gesture I could physically make to express my bewilderment.  "The first what?"  I muttered.

It was a genuine question, but he responded by slapping me across the face.  How you go in temple? he asked.  Who others inside?  What you see?

The sting of the slap lingered on my face for a few moments and didn’t motivate me to answer.  Look… I’m not sure what’s going on here, I said reluctantly, wary of saying something that might further unhinge him.  "I don’t know anything about a temple, or the first."

I expected another slap, but he nodded slowly and went over to a nearby table.  He picked up a long, thin needle and pressed its tip gently against my cheek, just below my right eye.  Instinctively, I moved my head back, but as he brought the point of the needle closer, I restrained myself.

"Eye is first word I learn in language of you, he said, somewhat impressed by his linguistic skills.  Is it you want learn how say Eye in language of me?"

With a needle ready to poke out my eyeball, I didn’t dare say no.  Sure, I replied, clearing my throat.

"Eer een," he said.  He moved his face unnervingly close to my own, and then opened his mouth to speak, before moving the needle away sharply and taking a few steps backward. 

I could see from his eyes that he had become aware of something behind me.  I turned my head as best I could, and saw a woman moving out the shadows. 

"He’s here to teach, not to learn," she said, gesturing him dismissively to move farther away.  She lightly placed her fingers on my shoulder, ran them playfully down my back, and then rested them on my hip. 

My name is Evening, she said, moving round to face me.  Without turning to look at the three men, she said something to the them which caused them to leave quickly. 

She placed the palm of her hand on my chest and took a deep breath – as if smelling an aroma.  I’m a Sister of Knowledge.  She breathed deeply again.  "You are a man of secrets."

You can tell that from smelling me? I asked.  She was stunningly beautiful. 

No… she said.  "From this."  She held up the grey metallic coil that I had taken from the white corridor. 

I found it.  I don’t know what it is.

She cocked her head, intrigued by my ignorance.  Unfurling the coil, she straightened it out and held it close for me to inspect.  It was about twenty inches long and looked like dark grey plastic.  "We call this a Band of Knowledge.  The Sisters have thousands of them – each just like this one.  Most of them were found here in Masana.  Some were found in Gudta.  There must be others, I’m sure, still waiting to be discovered."  She lifted it high, holding it by each end, and lay it flat against my forehead.  Keeping her eyes fixed on mine, she lowered the band slowly, allowing it to softly slide over my nose and mouth.  Was she flirting with me?

Each band, she explained, contains visions.

Visions of what?

Oh...the beginning.  And the end.  And everything in between.

That’s quite a lot, I replied. 

She handled the coil like it were a snake – gently twisting and curling it.  They give us glimpses of the past… and sometimes the future.  They let us see the world as others see it.

OK. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but it sounded profound. 

"But this one reveals… nothing.  She rolled up the band, brought it up to one of her eyes and looked at me through its centre.  Why is that?"

I shook my head.  I’ve no idea.  I’m not really sure what you’re talking about.

She took a few steps over to a nearby table and lifted a few objects one by one.  I was pleasantly surprised – and reassured – to see my keys, my mobile phone, some old receipts, plus the pen-like object I had found.  She lifted my phone and examined the bank cards and driver’s licence that I kept in its cover.  This writing is old, she said.  What do these words mean?

Look, I said.  I genuinely don’t know what’s going on here, but –

I was interrupted by a loud thud, and then another.  Evening quickly moved behind me as the door burst open, revealing a young woman brandishing a dagger in one hand and a spear in the other.  Without speaking, the woman lunged forward and cut the ropes that were holding me up.  I stumbled forward onto the ground and looked around; Evening was gone.

Nearby on the floor lay my clothes.  The woman tossed them over towards me and gestured for me to put them on.  Come! she said, as she gathered my belongings from the table into a small leather bag. 

Sore and groggy, it took me a few minutes to put on my clothes and shoes.  The woman waited at the doorway impatiently, and then helped me get onto my feet as soon as I was ready. 

Taking me by the arm, she led me down a dimly lit corridor past several dingy rooms, illuminated by flaming torches on their walls.  On the floor in one of them were the two men dressed in blue, who had seemed scared to be in my presence.  Their shirts were now stained red as they lay in a pool of blood.  The throat of one had been slashed, but it wasn’t immediately obvious how the other had been killed. 

Hearing footsteps coming from the far end of the corridor, the woman pulled me away and entered a room on the left, the door of which was hanging off its hinges - seemingly broken