Blood Legacy: The House Of Alexander Part 9

Ala turned to the west, just in time for the wave of agony to overtake her. It sliced through her like shards of ice riding the edge of a bitterly cold wind. It took her breath away, and although she had no need of this air, she felt the loss as keenly as if she did.

She gazed off into the distance, her eyes dark with the knowledge of an approaching storm.

Kusunoki was deep in meditation. His mind was a placid pool, reflecting all and reflecting nothing. Although he had not required oxygen for centuries, he still utilized breathing techniques in his practice. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, the tempo undisturbed by anything in the external world.

Hundreds of years of studied concentration had yielded a mind so perfectly trained that nothing could disturb the utterly still surface of that inner pool. But even so the surface began to tremble, as if agitated by some great force at a distance. Kusunoki attempted to return to stillness, but the surface of the pool began to ripple, then shake violently, as if the force was rapidly getting closer. Kusunoki tried to calm the surface through his iron will, but it was too late, and the pool was caught in a maelstrom, sucked upward into a twisting, violent whirlwind, spraying liquid everywhere.

Kusunoki opened his eyes. He was seated in his meditation chamber, alone. His breathing, which had become harsh and ragged, was stopped. His fists were clenched so tightly that the skin across his knuckles had split wide open. The silence was complete, and the only movement in the utter stillness was the stream of blood that slowly made its way down his arm until it dripped to the floor, forming a perfectly still pool.

Abigail had returned to her private estate, which was decorated in much of the same cool elegance of her Council chambers. As she settled into a pale blue settee, she wondered if the antic.i.p.ation of an event lessened its impact, or amplified it.

She turned her head ever so slightly to one side. She was about to find out.

The effect was definitely not the former as the antic.i.p.ation of the force did nothing to lessen its crushing blow. It was impossible to say if the antic.i.p.ation had amplified the effect because it was of such magnitude, comparisons of size lost meaning.

Abigail let the anguish pa.s.s through her like a raging torrent, doing what she could to redirect the flow so that it would damage little and leave her body in the most expeditious manner possible.

When it had pa.s.sed, she again settled into her settee, gathering her knitting to her lap. Her fingers remained motionless, however, and her eyes unfocused as she stared off into the distance, a look of deep contemplation on her face.

Aeron sat before a chess board whose pieces represented a game four centuries old. He pondered the positions of the pieces, and the knight that had been so boldly moved into a highly unorthodox but brilliant attack. He could not help but smile at the audacity of the move.

However, although fortune might favor the bold, chess could punish them mercilessly. Aeron reached for the rook, ready to counter, but paused when his hand touched the piece. His hand hovered in the air, and he caressed the top of the ivory playing piece with his finger, waiting.

The wave struck him, causing exquisite pain, washing through with a throbbing urgency, leaving only an aching that gave him intense pleasure. He sat for a moment as the feeling ebbed, enjoying every last second of the pain.

Aeron refocused on the board, his hand still on the rook. He smiled to himself as he carefully moved the rook to the square the knight was occupying, and removed the piece from the board.

Edward stood outside Victor's quarters, his head bowed and his eyes closed. There was nothing he could do to a.s.suage his own grief, let alone the agony of his young liege still inside the room. Susan came up beside him and put her hand gently on his arm, and although Edward did not think it possible, the touch brought him comfort.

Minutes pa.s.sed, perhaps an hour, then both were startled as both doors were thrown open. Ryan strode through the doorway, her face without expression, her mannerisms carefully controlled. She had changed and was now entirely in black, and Edward noted that she wore her father's clothes well.

She turned to him, and her voice was as controlled as her mannerisms. "Prepare my father for transportation, we will be leaving within the hour."

Edward nodded, "And may I inquire as to our destination?"

Ryan glanced at Susan, then back at Edward. "You know where we are going."

"Ah," was all Edward said.

Ryan strode off in the same tightly controlled manner. Susan glanced at Edward uncertainly. Edward touched her sleeve, still watching his departing master.

"I suggest that you and your son prepare yourselves for imminent departure. I think even an hour is a luxury we do not have."

They boarded the plane forty-five minutes later, as Victor's body, draped in black was carefully loaded under Edward's watchful eye. Susan was surprised when Ryan dismissed the pilot and disappeared into the c.o.c.kpit. Jason, who had been awakened for the departure, had already fallen asleep in his seat, so Susan moved into the seat next to Edward, who was settling in. As far as Susan could see, there was no one else on the plane.

Edward confirmed this. "I am afraid that we are going to a location of such secrecy I am going to have to forbid you to look out the windows." He began pulling down the window shutters. "And you will not be allowed to disturb Ryan in flight."

"Will she be piloting the plane?" Susan asked.

Edward nodded as he settled back into his seat. "She is the only one who knows where we are going."

Susan's head was whirling at what had transpired in the last few hours. Victor's rapid deterioration during Ryan's absence greatly distressed Susan, and although she had made great progress in the brief time in which she had to work, she felt a sense of failure that she had not been able to even slow down the progression of the disease.

If it was in fact a disease, she thought to herself. She wasn't even certain what had happened to him, other than the dramatic rise in histamine in his system she had observed, which made no sense at all.

As Victor worsened, he had been adament that Ryan was not to be disturbed or called to return. It was only through luck itself or Victor's force of will that he had remained conscious long enough for her to arrive.

Unconscious. Is that what he was now? Or was he truly dead? She had carefully watched his body for any of the initial signs of death, the rigor mortis, the pooling of fluids. There were no markers to indicate he had pa.s.sed from life to death, only that he was...gone. Whatever had animated his immortal sh.e.l.l wasn't anywhere to be found.

She glanced over at her sleeping son. She had pulled him into such a world of danger. She knew that Ryan would protect him at all costs, but in the last few hours, she was vigorously reminded of how terrifying an individual that Ryan herself could be.

These dark thoughts swirled through her head, and so it was with some surprise, she found herself drifting into a sleep she had not experienced in days.

Ryan sat in the pilot's chair, her hands expertly moving over the controls of the plane. Her pa.s.sengers were not aware of it, but this was in fact a different aircraft than the one they were used to flying in. Of course, Ryan thought to herself, none of the modifications would have been obvious to anyone other than those deep within the research arm of the United States Department of Defense. And they would be so mortified to learn that the technology had been "borrowed," they would most likely deny all knowledge anyway.

But the very technology she had borrowed guaranteed that the denial would be unnecessary. The design of this plane had only two objectives: speed and concealment.

Ryan glanced at the tactical air navigation system. They were beginning to move northwest, albeit by very indirect route. Ryan checked the various instruments spitting out electronic countermeasure data. She then checked the readout on the exhaust temperature control system, satisfied. The plane had a tighter thermal signature than a stealth bomber.

Ryan sat back in her seat, relaxing for a moment and pondering their destination. She allowed herself a slight smile, although there was no humor in it.

If the Bermuda Triangle had a Bermuda Triangle, that was where they were heading. But unlike the Devil's Triangle of popular lore, there were no mystical stories about this vortex. There might have been whispers or quiet murmurs, but the few who knew anything about this black hole in the middle of the ocean kept their silence. That was because people disappeared. Not just those unfortunate enough to cross within 500 miles of this particular lat.i.tude and longitude, but also everyone who knew those people, and then everyone who knew those people.

Fortunately, outside of all normal shipping lanes, without military significance, and at a deadly confluence of currents, the location was rarely disturbed, and the number of those requiring "silencing" was few.

Susan opened her eyes, confused. She had a moment of complete disorientation before the events of the last few days came flooding back to her. She glanced around for Jason, then saw him playing a board game with Edward. On closer examination, she realized Edward was teaching him to play chess.

As she became more oriented, she realized they were still on the jet. She had no idea how long she had slept, but she had impression that it had been a very long time. She stretched, then stood, just in time for Ryan's voice to come over the intercom.

"Edward, tell Jason to look out the window."

Edward seemed surprised, but opened the window shade. Susan walked over and joined them as they gazed out the side window.

Susan caught her breath, and Jason gazed in wonderment. "It's a castle, mom."

The airplane was winging over an island that looked as if it had just risen out of the sea. It was gorgeous, pristine with an ancient, untouched beauty. The land was bordered on all sides by steep, forbidding cliffs which rose to even more forbidding mountains. There was a narrow ledge high on the cliffs, surrounded by peaks, cut by a million years of wind and rain. And perched, impossibly, on that ledge was a 13th century English castle. A waterfall bordered the west edge of the citadel, falling a thousand feet to the swirling sea below.

No sooner had they pa.s.sed the castle than the sea just off the island began to churn, as if moved by some great underwater disturbance. The churning became violent, and then a huge ma.s.s broke the surface and began moving upward, pushed by some ma.s.sive, unseen machinery.

It took a moment, but Susan realized there was now a full-sized runway where seconds before they had only been ocean. She and Jason could barely get to their seats before the plane came to a floating, perfect landing. Within seconds, the plane's engines were shutting down.

Ryan stood on the balcony, gazing out at the waterfall. The water was so close she could feel the spray when the wind came up. It was not loud, however, because the water flowed down the smooth cliff for another thousand feet before it collided with the sea. She felt Edward's presence behind her, but did not turn.

"Your father's bod-, I mean your father, is settled in his chambers."

"Very well," Ryan said stiffly.

Edward stood, staring at his liege's back. He finally spoke again. "Dr. Ryerson awaits you in the study."

Ryan stood silently for a moment, then turned. "Then I will see her now."

Susan was seated in front of the fire. Although this island was very green, it was also very cold, making her wonder just how far north they were. She and Jason had already bundled up with the clothes they had been provided by the castle's ephemeral staff.

Susan had been surprised to see that anyone lived in the castle, or actually within a thousand miles of the island itself. It seemed to exist in the middle of nowhere, as remote as inaccessible. The staff did not speak, and she had the feeling she would never hear them do so. She also had the feeling that these people had never left this island, nor would they.

Ryan materialized in the room, startling Susan. She walked to her desk and picked up a newspaper. Susan peered at the header and realized that it was the Wall Street Journal. On closer inspection she realized it was tomorrow's Wall Street Journal. She shook her head. That couldn't be right. She glanced at her watch, wondering what the time difference and date was.

Ryan caught the gesture. "Yes, it is tomorrow's paper, even according to Greenwich Mean Time."

Susan knew she didn't want the answer but could not help herself. "So how is that you get tomorrow's newspaper, or how is that you get a newspaper delivered here at all?"

Ryan skimmed the headlines. "I get the film as soon as it's run. Computers and satellites have made it far easier to obtain information on this island, as isolated as it is."

Susan was processing that, but still didn't understand. "But how is it that it's newsprint, just like a regular newspaper?"

"What?" Ryan said, glancing up from the paper. "Oh, that. There's a printing press in the bas.e.m.e.nt."

"A printing press," Susan repeated, disbelief in her voice.

Ryan was again reading the headlines. "Umm, yes. My father liked to read the newspaper."

Susan shook her head, still not believing. "So this printing press, it prints out one newspaper?"

"Hmmm?" Ryan said. "Oh yes, unless of course I want to read Le Monde or The Guardian, or something. Then it might print out two or three."

Susan sat for a moment, trying to process this piece of information. Ryan folded the paper and tossed it back on the desk. She moved to the seat across from Susan, settling into the dark leather chair.

"I am sorry," Ryan said.

Susan shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to help your father."

Ryan's glanced down for a moment, jaw clenching, then quickly got back on task. "No, you don't understand. I am sorry that I have essentially kidnapped you again."

"What do you mean?" Susan asked.

"Well, several things. I have brought you here because I want you to continue your examination of my father. I don't believe his body will decay. I believe he is," she paused, searching for the words, "In some state of suspension. If there is any way of finding out what is wrong with him, then I believe you are the one who will find it."

Susan was honored at the belief in her abilities, but a little uneasy as well.

"Secondly, politically, there are many very dangerous things occurring among my Kind, and I believe you could be a target both directly and indirectly."

"And a liability," Susan said, saying what Ryan would not.

Ryan slowly nodded. "I would not want to have to choose between protecting you and protecting my father."

Susan didn't want to contemplate the outcome of that choice.

"And finally, I am going to be pulled away to-," Ryan paused, obviously angry. "To attend to some business."

Susan would not ask. Ryan waited to see what Susan's response would be. She did not want an unwilling captive.

Susan shook her head. "I'm never going to get Jason in public school," she mused.

Ryan smiled.

Susan was gratified to learn that, once again, Ryan had amply provided her with research facilities. As she examined the state-of-the-art medical equipment in the laboratory, she wondered how it had been delivered to the island in secrecy. On further thought, she decided she really didn't want to know.

"I hope this meets with your approval."

Susan was again startled by Ryan's presence at her side. "I wish you would make a little more noise when you move around," Susan said.

Ryan merely smiled. "If there's anything else you think you might need, just let Edward know."

Susan turned to her. "Will you be leaving?"

Ryan nodded, obviously displeased at the prospect. "I have some things I have to attend to."

Susan knew better than to probe any further. She turned back to the equipment. "I think what is here is more than sufficient."

Ryan picked up a pair of clamped scissors. "I know that I was gone for only a short time, but did you make any progress in my absence?"

Susan walked over to the charts that had been transferred from the estate. She picked one up with a graph on it.

"In trying to figure out what is wrong with Victor, I am hampered by the fact that I have no idea what might be right." Susan gazed at the chart thoughtfully. "So the only approach that I can use is to compare you and your father and look for something different between you. You two are so genetically similar that you are literally two of a kind, perhaps the only two of your kind."

Ryan replaced the scissors, then picked up a scalpel. "That seems a good approach. Have you found anything, yet?"

Susan showed the graph to Ryan. "Well, I found this, which made no sense at all to me."

Ryan examined the graph, which showed a gradual increase that transitioned into a much sharper increase. "What is this?"

Susan examined the graph herself. "It's the histamine levels in Victor's blood, which rose exponentially the few days you were gone."

Ryan set the scalpel down, puzzled. "And why would that happen?"

Susan was thinking aloud. "Well, I'm not really sure. Histamine occurs in all the soft tissues of the body and is formed by the removal of acid from amino acids, similar to serotonin, dopamine, and adrenaline." Susan traced the line on the chart with her finger.

"Normal blood histamine levels are between 40 and 70 mg. Levels that are too low can cause hallucinations and paranoia. Levels that are too high can cause overstimulation, rapid thoughts, sensory distortion, and a ridiculously high pain threshold."

Susan appeared slightly embarra.s.sed. "And although this is probably not applicable to your father, blood histamine levels in humans directly affect s.e.xual behavior. A low level causes lack of s.e.xual desire and a high level causes over-s.e.xed behavior."

Ryan stared at the chart. Victor's levels had been high from the start, but had increased to pathological levels. "So what do you make of this?"

Susan was suddenly very uncertain. "I have a theory," she said hesitantly, "But it's very speculative."

Ryan glanced up at her. "Please continue."

Susan still hesitated "There is some fairly recent research tying histamine levels in the brain to a physiological state in which central nervous system activity is deeply depressed, maintained at a very low but functionally responsive level." She paused again. "This 'state' allows the body to conserve energy and down-regulate cellular functions such as rate of respiration and blood flow."