Chapter 10: Chapter 10 – God’s Blood

Gale rushed to Bo in a state that could only be described as hysteria. He had never expected to be so worried about the kid – but there was something about him, something that Gale liked.

Whether it was Bo's insatiable curiosity or suicidal daring, even the old man didn't know.

But whatever had endeared him to Bo – had made him far more panicked than he would usually have been in such a situation… Not that he was in situations like this very often… or ever.

"What are you doing over there!?" Gale yelled, his heart dropping as he saw the trail of blood that Bo had left when he dragged himself to Gale's bag.

The boy was face down in the sand, clutching a strip of bloody leather in one fist and a twisted piece of metal in the other. Every bandage on his back was saturated, and the blood had begun to run down his sides – creating a morbid silhouette in the sand.

Gale hastily turned Bo over, freezing when he saw the boy's pale face. He looked like a ghost. He looked like he was dead.

The old man placed the back of his hand in front of Bo's mouth, leaving it there until he felt breath. Something which took far, far longer than it should have.

Bo was alive. But barely.

Gale pulled a fruit from his pocket. He had managed to grab it from a mature Horus plant nearby, and it looked for all the world like he held a human heart in his hand. It was about that size and bloody red, with a velvety, lumpy texture.

Bo's dull eyes widened when the fruit came into view. He had dreams about this fruit; it haunted him.

"guh hu," He mumbled something incoherent – weakly raising a limp hand and batting ineffectually at it.

"Stay still," Gale grumbled, pulling the twisted piece of metal out of Bo's hand and wiping off the blood. He then searched his bag for something to squeeze the juice into – finally finding a small copper pot covered in dents.

With a grunt, Gale clenched hard on the fruit, and its juice and pulp flowed down into the little pot. When he was done, he tossed the husk of the fruit aside and licked his lips.

"I've… I've never done this before," Gale admitted, his hand shaking slightly. The twisted piece of metal felt so very sharp in that hand. One wrong move, and he…

He didn't want to think about it.

"Bu," Bo grumbled, swatting at the copper pot. His lips were parched, and a little trail of blood had begun to flow out of the corner of his mouth.

"Stop that," Gale hissed, "Why are you trying to fight this?"

"Guhu," Bo spat, shaking the strip of leather. He couldn't raise his arm properly, but Gale got the message.

"What is that?" He asked – grabbing the piece of leather from Bo's loose grip. Some of the blood had smeared, but he quickly got the picture.

His eyes narrowed as he examined the leather strip, "What is this?" He had a good idea; in fact, he was almost certain what it was. But like everyone else in the tribe, Gale had an Oasis tattoo. He had never seen another type before – so he couldn't be sure that's what he was looking at.

"Co-" Bo tried to speak but coughed on something sticky. "Collar… Bone." He wretched. The words had to be wrenched from within, taking all his strength.

"Are you serious!?" Gale couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What if it doesn't work? Nobody has ever tested this tattoo before!"

Bo reached up with a trembling hand and gripped Gale's wrist with more strength than seemed possible. His eyes seemed to blaze with intensity.

"D-o… It!" He spat.

"I don't know if this is a good idea," Gale muttered. "If I put this on you, I will practically be killing you. We have no idea if it will work or what effects this tattoo will have,"

Bo didn't reply – not that he could have. He just stared into Gale's eyes. His gaze was firm. Unshaken.

With a nervous nod, Gale set the strip of leather on Bo's chest and examined his collarbone. He grabbed a small clay pot from his bag and dipped a thin brush into it. The brush tip emerged, dripping in an oily black tar that he used to draw his designs with.

Strangely, as Gale's hand neared Bo's collarbone – the trembling slowed and then stopped altogether. That hand had spent years drawing and forging, not to mention turning that god-forsaken drill. He wasn't looking at Bo like a person anymore, but instead, as a canvas. Gale's hand didn't shake when he was designing. He wouldn't let it.

With the hand of a surgeon, Gale used the brush to draw the flowing fire-like pattern on Bo's collarbone. It didn't take long, nor did he feel the time pass. The old man was utterly and wholly concentrated on the task at hand. It was more than life or death. It was work.

When he was done, Gale took a deep breath and picked up the twisted piece of metal, dipping it in the copper pot full of dark red liquid.

"Are you ready?" He rasped.

Bo couldn't respond, but the look in his eyes said it all.

"Then I will begin,"

The process of receiving a god's emblem, crest or insignia was relatively straightforward. In general, there wasn't a high barrier to entry because gods always wanted more followers. All someone needed was a Horus fruit, something sharp and a pattern.

Each god's pattern was different and had to be followed quite strictly. However, as long the god themselves could identify the design, then it was close enough.

Gale pressed the tip of the twisted piece of metal onto Bo's collarbone, wincing as it broke the skin. The boy's eyes widened, and he thrashed like he was being electrocuted, but the old man held him down firmly and pulled out the tip of the metal, pressing it in a spot nearby.

"I know it hurts," Gale mumbled as he pierced spot after spot, moving his way along the flowing pattern. "But it will all be over soon,"

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Unfortunately, the gods – while very much keen on gathering new followers, like to make a test of sorts. The ingredients for the tattoo are easy to find, but the process of receiving the tattoo is excruciating. For those getting a tattoo, it felt like their blood was being pulled out through every pore in their body – as though they were being turned inside out.

Which isn't far from the truth.

Bo had thought that the agony in his back was the worst pain he would ever experience.

And then Gale had started the tattoo.

Every prick was worse than the last. His blood boiled, his bones creaked, and his very being was on the verge of collapse.

Prick, prick, stab, stab, would it ever end? How long could he endure this?

It just went on and on and on. Gale's hand fell and rose, moving methodically along his collarbone without a care for the abject misery of his subject.

The process lasted into the night and didn't come to an end until the morning sun slipped over the horizon. Warmth and light spilt onto Bo, and he suddenly felt like he was alive again. The night had been endless torment, but dawn brought with it a new day and possibilities.

"Gale," He croaked, "Is it done?"

The old man didn't respond. Immediately after finishing the tattoo, he had collapsed to the ground beside Bo – snoring face down in the sand. He was still clenching the twisted piece of metal in his hand – with his knuckles having long turned white.

Bo tried to rise but couldn't. His body felt empty, like a puppet without strings. Weakness pervaded every corner of him, every nook and cranny, every inch. He felt dried up and washed out – all at the same time.

"I'm…" He muttered to himself, "I'm alive…."

Even he couldn't quite believe it. Everything after the Vesper's appearance was a fleeting, hellish blur. How he had made it out with his life, he had no idea.

He just barely had the strength to move his head and glanced down at his collar bone – where a reddish black tattoo stood raw and sore. The usual tattoos were all dark red, but it seemed that Gale's ink had mixed with the fruit, adding streaks of black to the otherwise red flames that rolled along his collarbone.

A sudden rush of uncontrollable excitement hit Bo. He had done it. He had really done it. Despite everything, Bo had gotten what he wanted, what he had always dreamt of. Relief even bigger than his own survival washed over him.

"Thank you," He wheezed, "Thank you so much,"

It was hard to move, hard to breathe, hard to even think straight. Bo had never felt so many emotions at once. The whole thing was overwhelming.

All he could do was lie there - gazing up at the pinkish hue of the morning sky. There were no clouds to obscure the sun, leaving the sky empty and without features. Compared to the glittering stars at night - during the day, the sky was dull and lifeless.

For the moment, Bo felt helpless. He couldn't move, and his gut was on fire from a mixture of hunger and the blood he had swallowed the previous night.

He distracted himself by thinking of his new tattoo and what it meant. Out of everyone in the tribe, Bo had perhaps the best understanding of the tattoos - aside from Fran, of course.

He had read many an ancient scroll on the topic and knew roughly why the process of receiving the tattoo had been so agonising.

It all came down to the nature of the tattoos themselves. They weren't just some medium for transmitting a god's blessing - the tattoo permanently altered its wearer in a system known as God's Blood.

This went back to the scrap of scroll Bo had read about other fruits - besides the Horus. Of course, this was only his theory based on those writings.

But he suspected that there were different levels of his tattoo, with each level corresponding to another fruit. Bo had a hunch that the more complex his tattoo became, the stronger he would, in turn, become.

What the end goal of these tattoos was, he did not know. It was just too far off, too distant for him to worry about.

What mattered at that moment - was what his tattoo meant for him.

The only change he could sense was that his body felt tougher. Obviously, this was the case - since he hadn't died of his wounds yet. Bo being alive was a sure sign that the tattoo had worked.

He couldn't help cracking a smile.

It meant he was right - Qui really did exist, and dragons had once lived as well. This gave credence to all the stories he had read about them and solidified the most important question in his mind.

Where had they gone?

Where were all the dragons?

As Bo mulled it over, he couldn't help drifting off to sleep. The night had been particularly trying and had left him utterly exhausted.

In the end, he joined Gale in slumber - snoring by the mouth of the cave as the sun started to rise.

When he awoke, there would be endless possibilities laid out before him.

And Bo couldn't wait to see them all.

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