The Blood Child

By Alexander Cogar

Hailed as a hero, yet feared as an enemy, a wounded lone survivor of a massacred army is named after an ancient legend. With no memories outside of his imprisonment and the empty darkness of his pain, he embraces the rumors, giving birth to a legend all his own. He reaches out to take hold of what light he can see, but dark shadows from his past form insurmountable obstacles to drag him back into the mud and the blood of his past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543428957

Alexander Cogar

Alexander Cogar is the author of fantasy/mystery novels. He is a native of USA and England. He was a medic in the US Army for 8 years. Now he is spending time saving our furry friends as a Certified Veterinary Technician in a small day practice. He lives in Sun Prairie, Wisconsin.

Book preview

Chapter 1

BIRTH

His breath was becoming ragged now. He could feel his heartbeat slowing, even as he struggled to wake from the shadows that held him all too tightly. He could even hear it. The steadily slowing thump of his broken, dying heart. He could feel the force of his effort taking its toll more and more each moment he fought to continue breathing. He couldn’t remember though, remember why he was dying. Remember who he was before he was to die. He tried, tried to remember, but nothing came, no thoughts where his memory should have been. Just a vast empty space and a need to live so strong he knew he would already be absent of life without it. But why? Why did he want to live? To continue living. Without a memory he was dead anyway, inside as much as out. Why would I want to live …

Now you die. The voice was coming from above him, from beyond the darkness, something in front of him.

His eyes slid open, the glaring light cutting into his head from a fading source beyond his sight. The noise, the voice, was that of the shadow looming before him. It was holding a beam of solid light, high above itself. He didn’t need memories to know that bar of light was for him, that it was there to take his life from him. For a moment he was afraid, he still didn’t want to die. He wanted to live … but why? Without an answer, he considered resigning himself to death, to the darkness. He was helpless to stop it anyway.

His eyes caught the flicker of movement in the distance, and he saw another shadow, a small point of light hovering before it. With that sight, his will to live slammed back into him full force as he felt a sudden safety at the sight, a triumphant glee that he had a chance to live once more. Live and, maybe, remember. He smiled up at the shadow there before him and watched as it slumped lifeless to the floor. A shiver ran through him as he knew that above all things he could not be like that. He had to live. Before the darkness swept him away, he turned to the shadow racing toward him without its guiding point of light.

*

Kyle heard a voice growl into the wind, a voice coming from the clearing before him. Giving up on stealth, he broke through the last of the brush, lifting his bow before him. As his heart thumped in surprise, he took in everything he could see, his shock tendered by his experience and focus. He had been expecting to find a camp of enemy soldiers, bandits that had formed together rebelling against the crown. They put the main citadel under siege and claimed the rest of the island; that was two years ago. They locked down or eliminated supplies, or reinforcement, starving or butchering anyone who tried to deny them. By the look of the clearing he’d stepped into, he was correct in locating their camp, only it was completely covered in blood. Limbs, entrails, whole bodies, all scattered around the clearing, all coated in blood. It dripped from the trees, even pooling in places among the shorter grass.

There on the far side of the clearing before him was the only living man in sight; he stood with his sword raised. One of the bandits by the looks of him, as were all the rest he could see lying about. The lone man stood before a young boy, the blade aimed to take his life. With a solid thunk, an arrow was away, lifting from his bow, already fixed to its target. Kyle watched from a distance as it struck home, through the neck of the bandit, severing his spine.

Mm, damn I’m good. Kyle chuckled to himself as he watched the lifeless form crumple into a heap, as though his bones were liquefied. As he fell, Kyle got his first clear view of the boy.

He was a teenager, with less than twenty winters to his life. What he had taken for red clothes on the boy was, in truth, blood, and it covered him from head to toe. It was but one among many severe wounds, blood still fresh from most. Kyle dropped his bow as he found himself already running full speed toward the boy; even through the grit and blood, he was smiling weakly, acknowledging his rescuer before falling to one side, his blood-streaked eyes slipping shut as he fell to meet the ground.

*

He could feel solid muscle rippling beneath him as he was throttled back into consciousness. He felt something small poking at his wounds, prodding him and doing something to him that enflamed his entire body. His groggy mind unable to understand, he tried to move and stop it, finding that he was unable to move just when he was suddenly thrown forward. The small things prodding him suddenly grabbed a hold of him with a viselike force stopping him from going too far, pinning him to the muscular form below him.

Do know where go? a light but gravelly voice growled from above him, the small thing—it was whatever held him.

Yeah, yeah, I’m lookin’ for the … There! another voice, a warm baritone, came from the way he’d been moving before, just to one side of him. The back door.

Hurry, he blood too much, the gravelly voice growled as the prodding resumed once more, and he let the flames reignite, the shadows swelling in his vision as they lurched back into motion, the grumbling baritone voice the last thing he heard.

Bleeding, he’s bleeding too much, you little rat.

*

Kyle rode for the doorway as fast as he could with his load. The door was hard enough to spot when standing right beside it, and Gar wanted him to find it from the trail fifty full lengths away and still riding full speed with a wounded passenger. One of these days I’m gonna trample that rat, he grumbled in his head. He could tell the boy was still alive and that he was fading fast as well. He didn’t need a reminder to move faster. As though Gar could do it any better, hell, like he could do it at all without me or Cano … Speaking of the brute, he thought to himself, the last adding on as the mammoth of a man went flying past him and into the door at full bore. It was almost fascinating to watch the metal hinges shatter as the door was blasted inward by sheer force and brute strength. The man is a rolling mountain. He chuckled wryly as he rode into the now open doorway right on Cano’s tail.

Kyle entered to find the guards rushing into the small antechamber with swords or crossbows in hand and either aimed at Cano or himself whomever they saw first, though he was pleased to note most were pointing at the brute. After a few of them called recognition back among the others, the trickle slowed, and blades were lowered, all of them now recognizing either Cano or Kyle himself. Cano reached the guards and threw down the bundle he was carrying, which Kyle recognized only then as a bandit’s body. When it hit the floor, and the bandit groaned, he realized it was more living than dead.

Gar leapt past Kyle before he’d even managed to stop, his light, gravelly voice echoing in the now silent chamber. Bandit has secrets, must live so we learn. Must guard, prison. He growled as he kicked the unconscious bandit halfheartedly. Immediately two guards grabbed the man and dragged him away to the dungeon medical wing. With a look that stopped the guards in their tracks, Gar pointed behind Kyle where the boy lay. He hurt many bandits, was hurt by bandits. He hero. Save. When two of them moved to collect the boy, confusion evident in their eyes, Kyle grabbed one of their arms and held his surprised gaze.

The boy may prove even more dangerous than that bandit. Double guards on him. You understand? When the soldier nodded grimly, Kyle released him to take the boy and rush him off to find aid. The three new arrivals stood watching the boy go with a mix of emotions none of them were used to feeling—respect, concern, and outright fear.

*

At first, he thought his eyes had to be closed still, until he saw it there, on the edge of his vision. A light, flickering just beyond his gaze. He tried to turn his head, tried to see the light, to escape the darkness, but he couldn’t find the strength to do it as the darkness started pulling him back in. He couldn’t remember who he was anymore, and he had no idea where he was, yet. Even as these thoughts skittered across his foggy mind, he stopped caring; all he wished to do was escape the darkness, to live. He could feel it lingering just beyond sight, the shadows, waiting there to pull him under, but he didn’t want to go back. He’d just gotten out, just found the light. He fought harder, using all he had to simply turn his head toward the light. But nothing happened, nothing moved. A small pitiful cry escaped his throat, he could feel the darkness coming for him, stealing away the fringes of his weak vision, and he hadn’t even seen the light.

Y-your awake? a small voice, completely different from the others he’d heard, squeaked in surprise as a shadow moved into the light, blocking it from him. A single tear welled up in his eye and broke free of his resolve. I-I have to get the shaman! With that, the shadow fled. Just before the darkness swallowed him once more, he watched the light bloom across his vision, leaving a weak smile on his tear-strewn face.

*

When next he woke, he felt warmth bathing him from all around, the light leaking into his closed eyes, something soft and cool dabbing his face. It felt so good after the solitude of the shadow, he couldn’t resist but to turn his head into the ministrations and heard a soft chuckle in reply. It was the same sound, same light voice he’d heard last time the shadows released him.

You like that, do you? it crooned gently. It was only then, when the voice spoke, he realized he didn’t understand. His brow furrowed in confusion, and he forced his eyes to open. The light blinded him for a moment as it cut into his tired eyes, unused to anything but shadows. There above him, the source of the sound, was another shadow, only this one was unlike the others from before—she was bathed in color. He smiled warmly at the sight of the glowing shadow, basking in its cooling touch.

My name’s Kara, it crooned warmly, but the sounds were foreign, unknown to him. His brow furrowed in confusion once more, and he stared at the strange being that tended him.

*

Kara looked down at the young boy, still wrapped almost entirely in bandages, as he looked back in confusion at the sound of her voice for a second time.

Poor thing, you don’t understand me at all, do you? The boy simply seemed to become even more confused. Kara, she repeated as she tapped her chest softly. That’s my name, Kara.

A sudden smile split across the boy’s face as realization filled his eyes. When he tried to imitate her name, he simply seemed to growl instead. His voice was destroyed. You can’t speak, that wound on your neck it … poor thing. Kara suddenly felt an overwhelming sympathy for the boy before her as she watched a tear of frustration and confusion roll from his eye, even as he continued to try time and again to speak her name. Kara quickly rewet her cloth as she realized his efforts were reopening wounds on his chest and neck, blood seeping through the bandages.

Easy now, hush, she whispered softly as she dabbed sweat from his forehead. You’re only hurting yourself. With a pleading look, the boy stopped suddenly. He reached up with a shaking hand, placing it on her chest, right where she’d put her own hand. Then he moved it to his own chest in the same spot without breaking her gaze.

You want to know your own name? she asked uncertainly. He replied only by looking at her in frustrated confusion once more. Name, she said, patting her chest. Kara. She couldn’t help but return his grin when he smiled in understanding. Your name, she whispered, her smile vanishing, taking his with it slowly. She placed her hand on his with her own look of confusion and shrugged softly, shaking her head. I don’t know, no one does. If only because of her look, she knew he seemed to understand. Another tear rolled silently down his cheek as he mirrored her own shrug, tapping his chest. He didn’t know his name either. She felt her own tears welling up as his eyes slid shut from exhaustion.

Kara stood silently watching tears run down his face, gently wiping them away with her cloth, considering the boy who lay on the bed before her. When he had been brought to her, he was covered in blood from head to toe, every inch of him soaked red with it. Though he’d lost a lot of blood to his multitude of injuries, it was more than obvious right away that not all of it was his own. When the four guards who’d brought him to her remained at the door, her anxiety seemed locked in place. She knew that her fear of the boy wasn’t just her own. Everyone else, the other apprentices, even the shaman, either feared him outright or were dangerously weary of the slight figure now lying once more unconscious before her. Her fear was only quelled when he’d woken the night prior while she was on watch. As soon as she heard him squeak, she realized he was awake, his eyes half open, and she fled to get the shaman, as much as to escape being in the same room as the boy the guards had taken to calling the blood child. It was when she returned with the shaman to find the boy once more unconscious that the shaman himself pointed out the marker of humanity she would have overlooked. A sad smile marked the shaman’s own quelled fear as he silently slipped from the room. There on the boy’s cheek was a single streak marking the passage of a tear. The boy was afraid.

Now she’d spoken to him; she knew why he cried. She no longer feared her charge.

*

The darkness was everywhere again, he tried opening his eyes once more, but they were already open. He tried to look for Kara but saw nothing beyond darkness; he felt sudden elation at being able to move though, remembering when he was unable to and nothing more. He realized then that he could in fact see something. A thin strip of light a few paces away. He wanted out of the shadows. He had to reach the light. He flexed his muscles, testing them, feeling them respond but knowing they were still torn, still weak. He knew they couldn’t hold him; he could feel himself tearing just from the testing of them. But he refused to remain in the shadow.

He tried to push himself up, to sit, but couldn’t get his torso from the bed. So instead he shoved himself to the side and felt the soft surface beneath him give way to open air. He felt the impact of hard ground drive the lungs from him and was elated with the sensation, feelings the darkness kept from him. He elated in them even as he barely kept his head from slamming into the solid surface below him now. He could feel his warm blood seeping out of him, staining the surface beneath his chest, but he didn’t care; he had to escape the darkness. He could not rise, so he pushed at the ground beneath him, shoving it away from the light and finding himself closer to it. He tried using his legs, to push, but they were too weak to do more than tense no matter what he tried. Pace by pace, push by push, the distance between himself and the light gave way.

As he got into arm’s reach of the light, he tried to grab it, but he could not hold it, could not touch it. The darkness seemed solid above and below it, stopping his hands no matter how many times he tried to force them between the two shadows and grip the elusive light. He could feel warmth spreading on his knuckles as he scrapped them raw on the shadow. He heard noises, voices, echoing from beyond, from inside the light. There were deep, gruff voices, deeper than Kara’s. He heard something in them he knew was familiar, a pattern the same as Kara had made. He could learn to understand those sounds; he just had to find the pattern, but first … he had to break the shadows.

He pulled back from the light as thin shadows cut off the glow, breaking it as the sound of motion drew nearer. He whimpered silently as the shadow swung toward him, pushed away from the light as it flooded into the room and his vision. Even as his eyes stung from the sudden change, he stared at the source, darkness creeping in on him once more. The last thing to fill his vision was Kara’s worried eyes.

*

Kara stepped into the room and froze at a whine that made her mind go instantly to the image of a wounded puppy she’d once found. Looking to the source of the sound, she found a puppy of another source staring greedily into the light of her lantern as though it was the only thing keeping him alive, the blood child. Tears were running freely down his face this time, and blood was coating every bandage on his body, even the new wounds on his knuckles. A bloody trail showed his dragged passage across the small recovery room. Spinning halfway back out the door, she grabbed a hold of the closest guard’s sleeve.

One of you run and get the shaman, two of you get in here and get him back in that bed. With a look of surprise, the guard looked in and saw the boy lying once again unconscious on the floor just inside the doorway, moving to pick him up with one of the others.

By the gods … how can he even move like that?

The shaman, hurry, one of the remaining men growled to his companion still at the door. He broke his reverent shock and took off running at full speed down the hall. The last one, who spoke, looked down at the young boy as his two comrades lifted him from the ground, blood dripping from the soaked bandages, a look of pure admiration mixing with one of pity coming into his aged eyes.

I’ve seen seasoned soldiers cry themselves to sleep before a battle for fear of wounds like tha’. Some fear those wounds more than they fear death. I’ve seen men afraid o’ the dark too. But by the blighted gods I’ve never seen a man like ’im. As he was looking up at Kara, their eyes met and reflected their shared understanding of what he was saying. The boy was scared, he wanted to live, and when all he could remember was the darkness of sleep, life was light, no matter the pain.

The guards settled him reverently into bed once more, before they looked to Kara. I ’eard stories, miss, ’bout the blood child, all through these past few days. ’E’ll be a legend in a few weeks’ time, and I never believed a one of ’em till now, the first guard whispered into the still air.

Aye, miss, I heard the stories too. It’s said he be the one who killed the bandit clan who be starving out the citadel. He’s a hero, the second said just as softly as though trying not to wake the blood-soaked boy before them.

I haven’t heard any stories. Kara spoke gently as she moved to the boy’s side, one of the guards stepping quietly out of the way as she started removing the soaked bandages. All I know is that when he came to me, he was covered in blood from head to toe, and most of it was his, but far from all.

The blood child indeed then, miss, the old guard whispered as he joined the three gathered around the bed. The guardsmen stood in rapt silence watching the boy’s haggard breathing for a short moment as Kara tended to him. The old guard whispered his thoughts aloud, vocalizing the one thing they were all thinking: Who are you?

A good question, a strong voice cut through the reverent silence from the doorway behind them. All four spun toward the voice in surprise, not having heard the shaman’s approach. The gray-haired man lifted the hem of his maroon robes and stepped carefully around the bloody trail marking the boy’s passage. The fourth guard followed him in with a chest, setting it down heavily on the small table beside the bed.

Your grace, he—, Kara began in a rush, pointing at the young boy in the bed behind her, but was cut off by a raised hand from the old shaman.

Calm yourself, child, I can still see rather well, old though I may be. He rolled out of bed and dragged himself to the door. He was going after the light, it would seem, by the scrapes on his knuckles, but he didn’t know how to get out the door from the floor. The old man grimaced weakly and slipped his hands into opposite sleeves. He’s far too weak yet to rise or the pillow would still be on the bed, but since he could not push himself up, it is now on the floor.

Kid’s got spirit, the old guard whispered admiringly with a glance back over his shoulder toward the boy. When he looked back at the shaman, the older man simply stared at him with a single eyebrow raised. The aged guard quickly took his hint and coughed nervously,

Yes, well, if you need us, he stammered as he signaled the others to follow him back out the door. The shaman called behind them as the door shut.

Send a maid as well. This blood everywhere will not do, the old man grumbled, turning toward the boy on the bed. A damned fool is what he is, spirit or not. Reopening all of his wounds trying to reach a door he cannot even open, and to no avail but to draw yet more blood.

He’s afraid, your grace. His memory is gone, and as I told you yesterday, he cannot even speak. He’s alone, and all he knows or remembers is the darkness of forced sleep. Kara spoke softly as she brushed a loose piece of bloodstained hair from the boy’s forehead.

In a few more days his tale will spread and this boy will be a legend here in the citadel, and he’s afraid of the dark. Sighing, the shaman shook his head with a grim smile. Whoa, the things that make us human. Leave him with a light on from now on, and you or another apprentice is to watch over him and ensure this does not repeat. In the meantime, let’s get these bandages changed before the blood dries too much.

With a nod and a sad smile, Kara set to work cleaning the freshly opened wounds and dressing them once more as the sun broke through the window. Thinking sadly to herself, Kara felt the irony in the dawn. Only a few more minutes and the light would have come to you.

*

When she woke, Kara cursed herself for having fallen asleep at all. They had been working until midday the previous morning to clean and replace the bandages; she’d been exhausted from it to the point she couldn’t sleep all night. So when she sat down beside the boy to read her book, she must have nodded off instead. She opened her eyes and reached into her lap to pick up the book, only to realize it wasn’t there, and instead she was covered in a thin white sheet. When she looked to the bed where the sheet had come from, she saw a look of amusement on the boy’s face as she realized he was sitting up, with her book on his lap and no sheet covering him. It was only four days after he’d come to them, and looking at him now, aside from the bandages he looked lively enough to leap out of bed and start dancing.

Y-your awake? she stammered before she remembered he couldn’t understand, but to her continued surprise, he nodded with a wry grin that said she’d just stated the obvious. And you understand me? Again he nodded, his wry grin turning into a proud one.

How did you learn? She could barely force a whisper through her shock, through the chance he’d recovered his memories. He simply shrugged and lifted her book instead.

You learned from the book? Again he nodded proudly. How? He chuckled softly and shifted with an obvious excitement; it seemed she was the first person he’d spoken to. He lifted the book up toward her and pointed to an open page about halfway through. His finger tapped on the word read.

From reading? You learned by reading the book? Kara asked incredulously. How did you know what this was though?

With a suddenly abashed look, he pointed to the door. A guard? His face shifted uncomfortably to confusion as he looked back to her, unsure of what she’d asked. The men outside, one of the men, they showed you? With a smile of understanding, he nodded.

But you don’t understand everything though, like guard? Not yet? she asked as she looked down at the book, then back at him. He smiled sadly and shrugged, pointing at the first half of the open book. You understand this half? You’re halfway through it? He chuckled at her repeated surprise and nodded again. With a massive grin overcoming her, she covered her mouth and fought to restrain the tears she felt burning in her eyes. Standing up, she gave him back the book and kissed his forehead.

Well, since you’re awake, I’ll get you some real food instead of the gruel you normally get. Okay? He shrugged but nodded as she stepped back, realization hitting her again.

Oh, you don’t remember anything yet, do you? He shook his head sadly. Not even food? Again he shook his head, tapping on the book, showing it was the only way he knew it. Kara smiled warmly and tenderly touched his cheek. When she did, she realized his eyes were more alert, more conscious of the world around him, and suddenly he seemed much older than he had been when he first arrived. If her guess was right, he was more likely her own age of twenty winters. Somehow his lack of memory made him seem like the child he had been so named yet, somehow, more alike to the legend his name portrayed.

*

When Kara left to get food, he couldn’t help but feel tired again; she was always there when the light was present. When he had woken this last time, and found his body sore, weak, but responsive, he’d looked around to find her there beside him, asleep with her open book resting in her lap. He memorized her face, burned the image before him into his hallow memory, his light bringer giving him something to see in the darkness. Something to remember.

Her soft yellow hair flowed in small curls down past her shoulders. Her porcelainlike skin was almost pale in the new light of dawn casting it off in soft glints. She was slim and had smooth skin and a soft build. Her bone structure offset just enough to take away the harsh angles of her strong features. She wore the same white dress he’d always seen her in, with sleeves that reached only to her elbows but otherwise fit snuggly around her body. Small red flecks decorated the dress in odd, random placing, which told him they weren’t put there on purpose. He’d found the words to describe her while reading her book—beautiful, kind, gentle. When she woke up, he had been able to add the image of her sapphire eyes to his memory.

While she’d still been sleeping, however, one of the men outside the room, a guard, had brought in water in a small pitcher. Apparently, it was for drinking, but he hadn’t known that at the time. When the guard saw him, sitting up with a book in his lap and Kara sleeping instead, covered with his own sheet, the man had frozen in surprise and spilled a bit of the water on himself. The man was bigger than Kara by almost twice her size, sinewy muscle covering his bones in taut waves. He was older, his hair graying in one small streak of otherwise short black hair. He was wearing a tunic that drew the eyes, black as his hair except the silver swath going from the right of his neck to under his arm and covering his whole shoulder. In the center of the tunic as an emblem was a red castle turret with a silver sword inlaid on top of it. Beneath the vest, he had a chainmail vest peeking out beneath the sleeveless sides, red shirtsleeves covering his arms in the same color as the emblem, accenting the colors even more. Black leather made up his pants, boots, and gloves, leaving his face the only thing uncovered. At his waist was a thick black leather belt with a broadsword on one side and a dagger on the other, shimmering with silver of the same emblem on the hilts. He knew what they were before reading the book; just from their shape, he knew the bars of light lay within. He couldn’t pull his eyes away even as he felt terror and rage battle inside him for control.

The aged guard followed his frozen gaze and realized instantly what was wrong. He knelt slowly to one knee, his empty hand’s raised palm toward the boy. Placing the jug on the stone floor, he slowly removed his weapons belt and tossed it back out the doorway, where one of the other guards was watching in rapt attention and caught the belt out of reflex. With that motion, the conflicting emotions abated and eased from his mind. He felt suddenly ashamed of how he’d acted and smiled softly to the guard in thanks. The older man simply smiled warmly and nodded his understanding. Taking up the jug once more, he moved to his side and placed it on the table a few feet from the boy. Moving slowly up beside him, the guard looked down at the book in his hands and smiled knowingly.

Kara says you don’t understand us. The boy recognized Kara’s name and what she’d said before the patterns in the sounds formed words in his mind, taking on meaning. So he shook his head to show the guard he didn’t understand them yet. The guard paused in surprise for a moment, considering the young man before him on the bed, and smiled. You’re learning though, aren’t you? Again he didn’t know, so he just shrugged in response as Kara had done when she didn’t know what to say for his name. Smart lad. The man smiled warmly.

Looking to Kara, he looked back to the boy, and then the guard spoke softly so as not to wake her. You know Kara, right? The man smiled as the boy looked over at Kara when he said her name. I’m Chris, the man said his name as he placed a hand on his chest. The boy smiled in return and nodded his understanding. You don’t know your own name, do you? He could only shrug with a sad smile in response, but Chris grinned back. For not being able to understand, you seem to be doing well. That was when the boy realized he really did understand the patterns of the words and their uses; he didn’t know how some of them applied, the meanings of some words, but he was learning how to infer their intent.

Quietly Chris then showed him the words he knew in the book, pointing out the speech and how the sounds applied to the writing. As he began to read and Chris read it to him, he saw patterns in the letters matching the sounds; in the written word he could hear the language. He began to read faster, to understand more as he found the pattern, in how the words related to each other and to the sounds. It didn’t take much before he could read all but a few words on his own. He even managed to finish the book while Kara was gone. When she came back, he was seemingly searching through it at random.

*

That’s not how you do it, silly, beginning to end, no wonder you were halfway already. She chuckled as