Blood Legacy: The House of Alexander (23 page)

Ryan continued through the trees, feeling the Others as they got closer. She was surprised at their great number. It seemed she was to receive quite a welcoming committee. But then, she imagined they received few visitors here. When she knew she was completely surrounded, she stopped.

The jungle around her barely moved, so quietly did they step. But Ryan heard them as clearly as if had they been thundering through the undergrowth. She stood, blurring her presence further until it was as camouflaged as her skin.

The first One stepped from the jungle in front of her, and from an ancient world.

Ryan had seen many soldiers in her journey across Africa, but they had been modern solders with assault rifles swung over their shoulders and bandoliers across their chests. They rode about in dusty jeeps with surly expressions, scattering hungry children, and emaciated livestock. Had she been less focused on her mission she would have slaughtered them all, save for perhaps the child soldiers, and even they might have been too indoctrinated to allow to live.

But this One stepping from the forest night was an ancient warrior. Magnificently tall, his ebony skin gleamed in the darkness. Naked to the waist, he wore an intricately woven necklace and full headdress. He carried a spear, which seemed more for show than from actual need. He was Old, perhaps older than Ryan herself, and very powerful. Ryan had to concentrate greatly to deflect his probing.

Another stepped from the jungle, this One dressed in more elaborate garb, perhaps that of a holy man. He, too, probed Ryan with ancient senses. There passed some silent communication between the two men, and then the jungle came alive as dozens, perhaps hundreds appeared. They were all glorious, with beautiful features and flashing white teeth, sinewy muscles flexing beneath gleaming skin barely covered with intricately woven skirts. Some wore detailed masks, and others wore beards, but most were clean-shaven.

They all stood staring at the strange creature before them, who seemed to shift before their gaze. The girl was a foreigner and garbed strangely, not simply from another tribe, but from another planet.

Ryan stared back at them, fascinated. They were her Kind, but different from the Others, possessing an amazing physicality and a primal energy. Drums began off in the distance. There seemed to be some silent debate among the leaders as to the next step, but that was quickly decided. They as one moved toward Ryan, and as one seized her arms and legs, thrusting her toward the sky. They began moving as a great blanket of humanity, picking their way effortlessly through the thick tangle of vines and branches. Ryan felt herself tossed above the great wave, handed from person to person as they ran en masse in one direction.

Ryan relaxed, staring upward as the canopy overhead flashed by. It seemed that regardless of time, place, or culture, she could always manage to anger the locals suffciently for them to execute her. Burned at the stake, drowned as a witch, pulled apart by horses, they were all attempted assassinations she could claim on her résumé.

As they stepped into a clearing in the shadow of the mountain, Ryan inwardly cursed the not-so-subtle influences of Christianity on the African culture. She was dumped unceremoniously to the ground in front of a twelve foot high cross. Apparently she was going to be able to add crucifixion to her list of accomplishments.

The night was falling and torches were lit, casting flickering shadows across the clearing. A Young One grabbed her arm and before she could suppress her preternatural reflexes, she had flung him halfway across the court, knocking two of the flaming torches to the ground. She was quickly set upon by a group of the muscular warriors, and she ceased resistance.

The cross was removed from the deep hole that held it upright and laid on the ground behind Ryan. Her arms were pulled to an outstretched position and she was pulled backward onto the cross. Ropes were tied tightly about her ankles, and around both arms, pinning her to the wooden frame. The Old One who had first stepped from the jungle approached, a great mallet in his hands.

Kokumuo stared down at the girl lying on the cross. Oddly enough, she showed no fear of what was about to happen, nor did she appear to be offering any resistance, other than flinging Kijana across the clearing like a toy. He again tried to get a fix on this one, tried to get a feel for her power. But she gazed at him impassively, and if he could get a singular emotion from her, it was that she was mildly entertained.

That would change soon enough. He motioned for the iron spikes, and two men rushed forward, placing the spikes in the center of the girl’s palms. She did not even curl her fingers.

Kokumuo straddled her and slammed the mallet downward, hammering the spike through the flesh and into the wood. There was no scream of pain, no writhing in agony. The girl did wince, but it was a reaction more commensurate with the stubbing of a toe than the damage he was inflicting. He slammed the mallet down on the other spike, and it again went through the flesh and into the wood with a loud “thwack.”

The girl winced and twisted slightly, this reaction more appropriate to an attack of mild indigestion. Kokumuo frowned and stepped back, motioning for the holy man to approach. The holy man stepped forward and gestured impatiently to the group hovering a safe distance off. They rushed forward, uprighting the cross and returning it to its hole in the ground. Ryan again winced as it jarred, settling into place. The drums increased their tempo.

The holy man drew his Nsakara blade, and it was Ryan’s turn to frown. Now this was probably going to hurt. He approached her, and, mumbling some ancient incantation, drew a line of blood from Ryan’s left shoulder to her wrist. The wound began to seep immediately. He carved another line down her right arm, then two across her torso, intersecting at her sternum. All of the wounds began to seep blood, running down her body and dripping into the dirt below.

There was a sudden shifting in the throng at the sight of the blood. None of their Kind was immune to the bloodlust, no matter the ceremony. Ryan stared down insolently at Kokumuo. She sensed his hunger increase exponentially. She held his gaze and, for just the briefest of moments, revealed herself to him.

Kokumuo staggered backward. His thoughts coalesced at frightening speed, and he lunged forward to stop the holy man, but he was not quick enough.

The holy man plunged the blade into Ryan’s left side, just beneath the ribs and upward toward the heart. This caused Ryan significant pain, and she muffled a centuries-old expletive under her breath. She closed her eyes and shifted uncomfortably at the pain of the impaled weapon.

The drums stopped abruptly and there was complete silence in the torch-lit courtyard. A murmur went through the crowd, and Ryan opened her eyes. The throng was parting like a great sea before a gorgeous, ebony goddess. The woman was dressed in elaborate robes, intricately decorated with symbols of the night sky. She gazed at the girl on the cross, her eyes following the rivulets of blood that streamed down the lean, muscular frame. The goddess stopped before the girl, her eyes caressing each crimson path. She finally turned her attention upward, and her tone was unaccountably amused.

“I find you most curious, Rhiannon Alexander,” Ala said.

The name sent a ripple through the throng, and those who had dared raise their hand in the crucifixion took a step backward. Ryan stared down at her wordlessly as Ala continued.

“And why is it that you have allowed them to do this to you?”

Ryan smiled a wicked smile. “Because you wished it.”

Ala felt the subtle sensation pass through her, the invitation, the enticement. She stepped forward, pretending to examine the impaled weapon thoughtfully. She then grasped the hilt of the knife and pulled it sharply downward. Ryan muffled a groan, shifting again. Actually, she thought, that felt a lot better.

Ala raised the crimson blade, touching it to her lips. Ryan felt the tremor pass through her as Ala tasted her blood. Ala held her gaze, invitation in her own eyes. She lowered the blade.

“You have allowed yourself to be sacrificed to honor me.” She glanced at the unique markings on Ryan’s body. “And I see that you have honored me further by dressing in so ancient a way that even the oldest here would not remember it. And how is that you discovered this array?”

Ryan, although completely caught up in the moment, could not control her wayward sense of humor. “Internet,” she replied.

Ala smiled, amused despite herself. That information was not available anywhere on that living web of knowledge. It could only be obtained at great effort and great expense.

“Hmmm-mm,” was all she said on that matter. She turned slightly. “Well, my sacrificial lamb, come down off of your cross.”

Ryan sighed with mock relief. “I thought you would never ask.”

With little more of a flexing of her shoulders, Ryan snapped the cross lengthwise, splintering the wood in all directions. She shrugged, and the ropes snapped, whipping wildly about as she landed lightly on her feet. Now, attached only to the crossbeam by the spikes, she braced herself, and pulled sharply forward. The nails came free of the wood, still impaled in her palms by her clenched fists. The heavy beam fell to the ground with a thud. Ryan gazed at the nails, puzzling how to remove them since both hands were affected. She was about to use her teeth when that mellow, melodic voice stopped her.

“Allow me to help you with those,” Ala said, holding one injured hand. She pulled the spike from the center of Ryan’s hand, then raised the hand, palm upward. She gently kissed the injury, then repeated the process with the other hand. Ryan’s eyes were locked with hers over the already healing flesh. Ala felt the shiver of excitement the girl tried, and failed, to suppress.

Ala did not release the girl’s hand, but rather placed it on her own and began leading her from the courtyard. The two ancient Ones walked from the clearing arm in arm, disappearing into the side of the mountain.

Kokumuo glanced over at the holy man, who was staring after the two. He would not want to be him at this moment. He looked back at the side of the mountain. He was not real happy about being himself.

Ryan was shown into a sumptuous room decorated with African and Egyptian artwork from across the centuries. Steps wide enough to comfortably sit on were carved from solid rock and led down into the center of the room. To the left on a raised platform was a sleeping area draped with translucent veils. There was the sound of running water from a waterfall that flowed from a hole in the ceiling and disappeared into the floor. A depression around the waterfall was worn into the wall, creating a natural shower. Ryan walked over to the waterfall and put her hand into the stream of water. It was frigid, obviously warming little with its trip down the mountain. She glanced over next to it, where steam rose from a raised bath.

A beautiful young woman came in carrying another jug of hot water. She added it to the steaming water. She lowered her eyes demurely.

“Would you like assistance bathing?”

“Ummm,” Ryan said uncertainly, “I don’t think so. Thank you.”

The woman nodded, her disappointment obvious. She disappeared from the room.

Ryan quickly removed what little clothing she was wearing and stepped into the waterfall. The shock of ice cold water felt good, as did the spice scented soap which lathered her skin. She scrubbed the paint from her body with the pumice stone, careful to avoid her injuries. She took a moment to examine them. The shallow cuts down her arms and across her chest had already begun healing. They were now thin red lines. She glanced at the back of her hands, then turned them over to look at the palms. The wounds had closed on both sides. She flexed the hands experimentally.

She turned her attention to the knife wound in her side. That was a different story. That cut had been much deeper, and although it was healing quickly, it still seeped a small amount of blood. Ryan put pressure on it, as if willing it to close.

“I trust your injuries are not causing you too great of discomfort.”

Ryan glanced over her shoulder as Ala entered the room, then back down at her wound. “It’s but a scratch.”

Ala settled onto a cushion on an upper step and took the opportunity to examine the girl’s physical form. She had a great appreciation for the aesthetics of their Kind, and this One was exceptional, especially for a European. Standing over six feet tall with well-built shoulders and a muscular back tapering to a slender waist, the girl had the sinews of a lioness. Her lower body was built for power and speed, with long, slender legs and well-developed muscles that rippled beneath the skin when she moved.

Ryan was aware but unabashed at the keen inspection. It was not a question of immodesty, but rather that she felt no more vulnerable naked than she did fully clothed. She stepped from the frigid waterfall into the nearby bath. The huge temperature differential brought its own pleasure as she settled into the steaming water up to her neck. She was about to comment on how well these accommodations integrated with the natural surroundings when something in the corner caught her eye.