Read Online Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan by Kerri Hawkins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kerri Hawkins
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boy stared at the hand gripping his arm and the priest slowly removed it, taking a step backward. The boy stared at the priest for a long moment, then went back to his rhythmic clinking as if nothing had happened.
Angered, the priest waddled off under the worried gaze of the boy’s mother.
The priest went to salve his wounded pride with a skin of wine. He was joined by two of his associates; rough, brutal men, filthy in both mind and body. They didn’t care for the priest any more than they cared for anyone else, or indeed, even each other. But they hovered about him on the occasion when it would serve their interests. He had wine on this evening, which was one of their interests.
The three men sprawled on the rough benches, becoming drunker as the evening progressed. They spoke loudly of foul things, each trying to outdo one another in their crude fashion. The priest was actually winning this rude contest when he spotted a young girl scurrying across the street to her hut. He sat forward; she was at least six seasons, old enough.
“You there!”
The girl stopped fearfully, torn between the doorway to her hut that was so close, and the commanding tone of the priest.
“Come here!”
The girl looked longingly at her mother who stood anxiously in the doorway. Her father appeared and pushed the woman back inside. He looked sternly at the girl and waved her on to the priest. He disappeared into the hut, pulling the cover closed behind him.
“Girl, I said come here!”
The child felt fear and despair as she reluctantly obeyed the priest.
The two men with the priest leered at the little girl. This was the best part of befriending the priest. The one missing the better part of his teeth grinned widely as he felt the hardness between his legs.
The little girl watched the man grope himself and turned to flee. The priest reached out to grab her, catching only her shift which ripped loose in his hand. He laughed loudly as the now-naked girl ran for the barn.
The three drunken men chased her, laughing merrily. “First one to her gets to break her!” shouted the drunker of the two men.
It was surely a measure of the men’s drunkenness that the fat priest nearly caught her first. But it was the toothless one who grabbed the little girl’s ankle, tripping her up as she entered the barn. He fell upon her, his weight easily pinning her. His foul breath filled the girl’s nostrils as he struggled with the rope at his waist. He pulled his organ free and with a shout of victory, grabbed the girl’s shoulders and thrust forward.
It was an act he would never complete as his face exploded into blood and bone fragments. He went backward off the girl as she screamed, his neck at an odd angle. He was dead before he touched the ground, his spine snapped just below the base of his skull.
The boy moved from the shadows, holding the now-bloodied garden spade in his hand. The second man was stunned. This boy, who could not be more than 13 seasons, had nearly decapitated his friend with little more than a farming tool.
The boy turned towards the priest, who was standing there with his now-flaccid member in his hand. The sight and smell of the dead man’s blood excited and enraged the boy. He knew he could probably kill the other two men with few repercussions, but the priest he could not touch.
It did not matter to him as he thrust the metal tool straight through the priest’s heart. The priest’s shocked expression was almost comical as he collapsed to the ground, dead.
The little girl fled screaming from the barn and the other man stared at the boy in horror. “You’ve killed a man of god,” he said, backing away from him, “you’re damned forever!” He himself ran screaming from the barn, terrified of the abomination behind him.
The boy knew he should go after the man. Whatever protection had been afforded him up until this time surely had run out. But he was suddenly tired, drained by the rush the killing
Angered, the priest waddled off under the worried gaze of the boy’s mother.
The priest went to salve his wounded pride with a skin of wine. He was joined by two of his associates; rough, brutal men, filthy in both mind and body. They didn’t care for the priest any more than they cared for anyone else, or indeed, even each other. But they hovered about him on the occasion when it would serve their interests. He had wine on this evening, which was one of their interests.
The three men sprawled on the rough benches, becoming drunker as the evening progressed. They spoke loudly of foul things, each trying to outdo one another in their crude fashion. The priest was actually winning this rude contest when he spotted a young girl scurrying across the street to her hut. He sat forward; she was at least six seasons, old enough.
“You there!”
The girl stopped fearfully, torn between the doorway to her hut that was so close, and the commanding tone of the priest.
“Come here!”
The girl looked longingly at her mother who stood anxiously in the doorway. Her father appeared and pushed the woman back inside. He looked sternly at the girl and waved her on to the priest. He disappeared into the hut, pulling the cover closed behind him.
“Girl, I said come here!”
The child felt fear and despair as she reluctantly obeyed the priest.
The two men with the priest leered at the little girl. This was the best part of befriending the priest. The one missing the better part of his teeth grinned widely as he felt the hardness between his legs.
The little girl watched the man grope himself and turned to flee. The priest reached out to grab her, catching only her shift which ripped loose in his hand. He laughed loudly as the now-naked girl ran for the barn.
The three drunken men chased her, laughing merrily. “First one to her gets to break her!” shouted the drunker of the two men.
It was surely a measure of the men’s drunkenness that the fat priest nearly caught her first. But it was the toothless one who grabbed the little girl’s ankle, tripping her up as she entered the barn. He fell upon her, his weight easily pinning her. His foul breath filled the girl’s nostrils as he struggled with the rope at his waist. He pulled his organ free and with a shout of victory, grabbed the girl’s shoulders and thrust forward.
It was an act he would never complete as his face exploded into blood and bone fragments. He went backward off the girl as she screamed, his neck at an odd angle. He was dead before he touched the ground, his spine snapped just below the base of his skull.
The boy moved from the shadows, holding the now-bloodied garden spade in his hand. The second man was stunned. This boy, who could not be more than 13 seasons, had nearly decapitated his friend with little more than a farming tool.
The boy turned towards the priest, who was standing there with his now-flaccid member in his hand. The sight and smell of the dead man’s blood excited and enraged the boy. He knew he could probably kill the other two men with few repercussions, but the priest he could not touch.
It did not matter to him as he thrust the metal tool straight through the priest’s heart. The priest’s shocked expression was almost comical as he collapsed to the ground, dead.
The little girl fled screaming from the barn and the other man stared at the boy in horror. “You’ve killed a man of god,” he said, backing away from him, “you’re damned forever!” He himself ran screaming from the barn, terrified of the abomination behind him.
The boy knew he should go after the man. Whatever protection had been afforded him up until this time surely had run out. But he was suddenly tired, drained by the rush the killing
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