Blood Bond

The last of Stonehand's men had retired to their tents hours ago, their snores a low rumble in the night. The large bonfire had collapsed into a bed of glowing, orange embers, pulsing softly with each stir of the breeze. Except for a few shadowed figures standing watch, I sat alone, wrapped in a thick wool cloak, watching the flames waver in their death throes. The words of the "Death Hymn" from earlier still rolled in my mind, along with the memories that kept surfacing like waves.

Up above, the sky was a black, velvet canvas strewn with an impossible number of stars. They held the constellations that Father had traced out to me with his hand guiding my finger, and yet, none of the ones that I had so proudly pointed out to Maya and Mom.

The memory pulled at a painful thread within, of a different forest, a more mundane, low-budget campsite. No warhorses, just our old, dented sedan—car camping. Mom had been so determined to give us a normal camping experience. I doubt she had ever been camping, so she'd packed with her heart, bringing a mountain of hot dogs and marshmallows, but neglecting essentials like camp chairs or sleeping bags that were actually rated for the cold.

That first night was a disaster. The night air, colder than any of us expected, seeped in through the tent's flimsy, poorly stitched seams. It crawled into our thin sleeping bags until our shivering sent all three of us scrambling for the relative warmth of the car, where we huddled together until dawn.

But we persevered. The next night, wrapped in extra blankets and up close to the campfire, we were treated to slightly burnt hot dogs and perfectly gooey s'mores. We sat there for hours, just watching the stars twinkle in an endless expanse, free from city lights. I had studied a constellation map before the trip, hoping for exactly this, and my heart swelled when Maya let out a wondrous "Wow!" as I pointed out Orion's Belt and the Big Dipper, her eyes even brighter than usual. I remembered how Mom was watching us, a tired but deeply happy smile on her face. In that moment, despite the cold and the lumpy ground, it felt like we were the best family in the world.

—

I awoke to the tiled ceiling of my hospital room. Sunlight came in white and clean lines through the window while the beeps of the monitor droned on in the background. Somehow, even though I'd only been here for days, I had grown attached to the place. The thought of this being my last day here placed a strange knot in my chest.

I sat up slowly, bracing for the wave of post-chemo nausea and the bone-deep weariness that had become my constant companions.

But… nothing happened.

I waited, but the familiar sickness didn't roll through my stomach. The metallic taste that usually coated my tongue was gone. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, a little surprised at the lack of dizziness. I felt tired, yes, but it was a normal, slept-all-night tiredness, not the crushing, leaden fatigue of the chemo.

It worked. The thought jolted me, a mix of triumph, dread and… regret? My decision before falling asleep—willing my blood to counter poison, like I did with the elven poison—had worked. I was free from the hunger in Aetheria, and the sickness here, but at what cost? I still have no idea what to do with the cancer. And that mass in my heart? I shuddered at the thought and pushed it to the back of my mind.

Mom was already there, bustling about the room, folding the few clothes I had into a small bag. She turned and a hopeful smile lit up her face. "Leo! You have some color this morning. You look so much better."

Her words only confirmed my fears. How soon will others notice? Shouldn't I not look this healthy?

It seemed that I didn't have to worry. The nurses who came were all teary eyed, only mentioning how happy they were that I was going someplace better. I suppose it's because I was the son of a nurse, but I have a feeling they'd cry from any of the kids that come through here, though "going someplace better" felt a little off-putting to me.

Nurse Miller gave my shoulder a warm squeeze. "Give 'em hell over there," she said as she adjusted my pillow one last time. Just as she was about to leave, she paused at the door and added, "And be sure to keep asking those questions."

My eyes were heavy with the weight of tears that I had to fight to hold back as I watched her walk away.

Dr. Sharma came by a few minutes later, his hands clasped behind his back. "Leonard," he said, his gaze not quite meeting mine. "I've overseen the transfer of your files. Ms. Vale's team is fully briefed and awaiting your arrival. I have… confidence that their resources will shed more light on your unique case." His unease was clearly evident in the subtle side-to-side movement of his shoe, and the way his eyes kept darting between me and the chart in his hand.

I wasn't certain, but at the end of the day, I felt that the root of his unease was just his worry for me. He was a good doctor, doing the best he could. I felt guilty about not telling him everything, but on the other hand, would he believe me? Would anyone?

"Thank you for everything, Doctor," I said, and I meant it.

—

Downstairs, the automatic doors of the hospital entrance slid open with a soft whoosh, revealing the curb where the "special van" Julia had mentioned was waiting.

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It wasn't an ambulance or a medical transport van as I knew them. The vehicle was long and sleek, painted a matte black that seemed to absorb the morning light. There were no flashing lights, no bold lettering—just a small, discreet, and elegant silver logo of a stylized "BMI" on the side panel. The windows were completely black, revealing nothing of the interior.

As Mom pushed my wheelchair closer, I could hear it—or rather, feel it. A steady, near-silent hum that vibrated faintly in my teeth. It wasn't the rumble of a combustion engine, but the hushed whisper of electricity.

I was reminded of a far fancier vehicle that hummed in the same way as well. One covered in sleek black lacquer. But that one was a carriage meant to carry royalty, so its design was meant for majesty and awe. Here, the subdued matte black spoke of discretion, backed by the hint of a threat in its cutting-edge tech.

Maya wrinkled her nose at the vehicle. "Why did they send something like this to pick you up?"

"Maybe this is what their idea of nice is." I tried for humor, but it fell flat even for me.

Mom knelt down and looked into my eyes. "Leo, remember to take care of yourself there. Tell them if anything doesn't feel right, or if you're not comfortable with anything. And I will come see you every other day. They're ok with that."

I gave her a small, tight nod, unable to trust my voice. Just as she was about to say more, the rear door of the sleek, black van slid open with a nearly silent, pneumatic hiss.

Ms. Julia Vale emerged, stepping down onto the curb. She had changed—I hope—into a new lab coat, though I could still spot tiny drops of coffee stain on her cuff. She held a touchpad in one hand, her hazel eyes were focused on its screen until she walked up to us, at which point she finally looked up.

"Good morning, Vega family," she said, her voice that same sharp, high-speed cadence. "Dr. Sharma has confirmed the discharge is finalized. We are on a tight schedule. Are you ready?"

Her efficiency splashed cold water upon the warmth we were wrapped in as family. My mom stood up, her face a mask of determined composure as she squeezed my hand one last time. Maya just clung to my other hand, her knuckles white.

"I'm ready," I said firmly.

Julia nodded once. "Excellent." She gestured towards the van's interior, which I could now see was decked out like a high tech operating room, with a single, comfortable-looking medical recliner and an array of glowing, built-in monitors.

My mom gave me one last, fierce hug, whispering, "I'm praying for you," against my ear. Maya wound her arms tight around mine, and held on until Mom shot a glance her way. She then reluctantly let go of me.

Julia didn't seem to be one for patience. Before we were even done, she took over from Mom at the back of my wheelchair and quickly pushed me up the ramp.

I took a final look at my mom and sister standing on the curb before the door slid shut with a soft, definitive thump. I was now sealed inside the cool, quiet interior.

As the van pulled smoothly away from the curb, Julia took a seat opposite me and pulled a black hoop out of a case.

"Just one more thing, Leonard. We need this to keep track of you."

Before I could ask, she snapped the thing onto my wrist. Its surface was polished to a shine, like a piece of smooth, glossy onyx. It was one unbroken circle, curved, with no clasp, buckle or any kind of seam. I turned my wrist around, and digits and lines glowed over its black finish, the smallest of which was the time.

"Wait… WBC, RBC, T-Cell Panel… Is this tracking my blood cell counts in real time? How?" I tried to lift the edge of the watch to look under it. "Is this some kind of new laser sensor?"

An amused smile popped up over Julia's face. "Lasers? No, it's just an old-fashioned micro-needle array. Though getting live, meaningful data off of that was still… tricky."

Needle?! The word set my skin crawling. I knew I'd been poked and prodded with needles so many times already; heck, I even had an IV stuck in me this whole time. But this was too sudden, too intrusive. I tried to pull it off and the thing wouldn't budge!

Julia was already focused on her touchpad, not looking up as she spoke. "We need you to be continuously monitored. You are one of our prized subjects, after all." Her fingers kept tapping on the screen. "We can take it off anytime at your request. But that, of course, voids our agreement."

I slumped back in my seat, my hand dropping away from the mysterious loop, dejected. A cold feeling of powerlessness washed over me. Was this what Astrid felt when they put the shackles on her? The thought came sharp and sudden. No, I corrected myself immediately, a fresh wave of guilt washing through me. That was far worse.

The van rolled on. We must be on the highway now, though the road never felt this smooth to me. Ms Vale's fingers stopped and she looked up from her touchpad.

"You know, the Director nearly flipped his desk when he found out how much I agreed to pay for you," she said. A strange, almost whimsical grin touched her face. "But he calmed down when I showed him your numbers. Though…"

She flipped the touchpad around, holding it out for me to see. Her finger pointed to a line graph displaying a series of my biometrics. Right where the time axis showed 11:00 PM last night—just before I'd finally let myself sleep—one of the lines launched into a sharp, impossibly steep peak.

A bead of cold sweat formed on my temple, beginning a slow, chilling trickle down the side of my face. My mouth went dry.

"This inflection point here," she said, her eyes drilling into me while her voice retained its unnerving, casual curiosity. "It's rather interesting. You wouldn't happen to know what might have caused it, would you?"

A plethora of excuses bombarded my mind, each one more insane than the last. I ate something weird. They must have missed the vein with the IV. I had a dream where I could control the chemo! None of it sounded remotely plausible.

Julia smiled at my visible panic, a knowing look in her eyes as if she could read my frantic, useless thoughts. "Don't worry," she said, turning the touchpad back to herself. "I never trust patient testimonials much anyway. We already have banks of blood work lined up for you when we get back."