Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2)
Fulcrum of Light
©2018-2020 CJ AARON
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Contents
ALSO IN SERIES
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Epilogue
FROM THE PUBLISHER
ALSO IN SERIES
About the Author
ALSO IN SERIES
A TRIBUTE AT THE GATES
FULCRUM OF LIGHT
GHOSTS OF THE ERYLN
Chapter 1
Ryl cursed as the jagged thorns of the small, withered bush bit into his pants. The needle of the plant traced a thin red line across his leg. If not for his toughened skin, courtesy of the Erlyn’s gift, he'd have been leaking blood from multiple locations on both his arms and legs. His pants and exposed shirt were shredding into tatters.
His phrenic cloak, an heirloom from a time long erased from the learned history of Damaris, had so far proved impervious to the sharp points. He heard a curse coming from a few paces ahead, followed by the metallic ring of sharpened steel cutting through the thorny branches. Andr wasn't faring much better against the painful landscape.
“We have to find an easier way through these,” the mercenary called back over his shoulder. “Let's make for that ridge, we’ll get a better view from there.”
The older guard, his only companion, pointed to a narrow, elevated ridge in the distance, northwest of their current location.
“I'll follow you,” Ryl responded, kicking his leg to detach the thorn attempting to hold him back.
Ryl had little knowledge of where they were going. Fate had delivered them to an uncharted starting point. They’d set sail, parting from their companions at sea before the frigate was intentionally scuttled. Running from the gale that powered their sails, they ventured out under the cover of darkness and ruse of their own deaths as they sought to elude the warship that shadowed their host. The fury of the vicious storm had ravaged their small skiff, depositing them on a small strip of sandy beach bordering the vast, desolate expanse of the Outlands. Their destination was unknown. Nothing more than a cryptic hint.
The unmapped terrain of the Outlands encompassed the land west of the Kingdom of Damaris. The western palisade of The Stocks denoted the walled end to the reach of human civilization. As recorded history had taught, the Outlands had spawned the greatest threat the world had ever seen.
The deformed, blackened monsters of the Outland Horde had appeared without warning over thirteen hundred cycles in the past. Their numbers were exaggerated to be vast enough to blanket the entire Kingdom.
If not for the actions of legendary Taben and his scant army, the Horde would have swept across the land leaving a wake of murder and destruction unlike nothing the world had ever witnessed. The unmatched skills of Taben and his warriors had turned the tide, providing a dramatic victory over the murderous Horde. Following the short, yet decisive campaign, the scattered remains of the enemy melted back into the Outlands.
Though the victory was definitive, it marked the new border of human civilization and halted all expansion westward. The western palisade was constructed with haste in an effort to prevent another incursion. Aside from rare expeditions by foolhardy adventurers, the area beyond the palisades had been abandoned.
To venture into its midst was to tempt death.
Ryl and Andr now trudged slowly onward, lost in the realm of the unknown.
The storm that had battered their small boat, nearly costing them their lives, had robbed them of the bulk of their carefully planned supplies. The gale deposited the pair somewhere far south and west of Cadsae Proper and The Stocks. Though they could see the outline of the jagged peaks of the Haven Mountains far off in the distance, there were no other discernible landmarks.
Aside from the clothes they wore and the small packs they carried, their list of supplies was sparse.
Each had a water skin.
Ryl carried his treasured and ancient magical weapons, The Leaves, and his crude splint.
Andr had a single long sword.
The anger of the sea had swallowed all of their rationed food, extra water, spare clothing and bed rolls. Their two bows, quivers of arrows, and the spare sword for Ryl had disappeared beneath the waves. The treatments that would have staved off the inevitable sickness that loomed over tributes such as Ryl had dissolved in the salty water.
The mender had given Ryl his last dose two days past. Symptoms of the sickness were known to begin less than ten days after the final treatment. They became debilitating not long after that. Though not fatal, the sickness—a mix of withdrawal and the body’s reaction to the poison of the treatment—would linger for
weeks. The mountains were still an indeterminable distance away and their time was running out.
Their cryptic instructions only amplified the disastrous feeling of loss and hopelessness that now dwelled in Ryl’s mind. Da’agryn, the mysterious, ancient hermit he'd met deep inside the Erlyn Woods had left him with the parting hint before his sudden disappearance.
“Look to the mountains, your answers will lie there.”
Answers, yes, but to what questions?
From where he stood, the mountains appeared unattainable. Were they to reach the mountains, what then?
Ryl's head was overflowing with questions that his mind demanded answered. What was he becoming? What powers remained hidden within his blood? How could he aid his fellow tributes who remained imprisoned inside The Stocks? Could he force an end to the barbaric system of tributes and sponsors?
Was the Kingdom of Damaris ready for that drastic of a change? A series of unfamiliar sentiments, ones he’d not seen from the outside world in cycles had enriched his mind and heart.
Compassion.
Friendship.
Trust.
He’d felt the compassion and friendship from Mender Jeffers. He had learned to trust a select few of those in stations life in The Stocks had taught him to hate. Andr, Captain Le'Dral, sub-master Millis, Cavlin, even his sponsor, the eccentric Lord Eligar had in their own ways broken the mold of the conduct he’d come to expect. This handful of kindred souls was a dramatic start, but the sample size was far too miniscule to judge the prevailing attitude of the population. Were their attitudes indicative of a populace that had been denied the truth of their existence for more than a millennium?
Ryl paused, taking a small sip from his water skin. He was already running dangerously low on the precious liquid. He followed at the heel of the determined mercenary who carved a path through the brush ahead. His thoughts, however, were still elsewhere.
The Ascertaining Decree was at the heart of the kingdom’s problem. As it stood now, the ascertaining testing, required of every child at the age of eight cycles, held their lives in the balance. If the presence of alexen was discovered, the parents were left with a heinous decision: either sell their child into a life of slavery, or tempt fate running for their lives.
Ryl had never heard of a family surviving indefinitely. Those who ran were hunted like outlaws, their families slaughtered mercilessly on the spot.
Alexen—the unseen compound in the blood—was thankfully exceedingly rare, occurring in less than one out of every several thousand children. Still, the price in blood was far too high.
What was it all for? Why hunt and remand an entire segment of the population, albeit small, to a life in chains? Ryl could think of only one word to describe it.
Greed.
For the privileged few, the ultimate favor from the King was the honor of sponsoring one of these ill-fated children. In their blood flowed a tapable power. The alexen was that power. An invisible compound, that when processed was the building block for the fabled Blessing of the King. This elixir granted long life and intelligence far past the bounds of nature.
Fortunately, Ryl's sponsor had chosen a different path. Through his cunning and deception, Lord Eligar had set Ryl free after his Harvest. For reasons that remained a tantalizing secret, Lord Eligar was convinced to sponsor Ryl by an influential, eccentric and fabulously wealthy friend, known as Old Man Averine. Prior to this point, House Eligar had stood for centuries in quiet defiance of the system of tributes.
What prompted the sudden change?
Who was Old Man Averine? How had he learned the results of Ryl's testing results quickly enough to persuade Lord Eligar?
Ryl still failed to grasp the why in all of these occurrences. Why had so much trouble been made over him? He’d been living the simple, tortured life of a tribute for eight cycles; planting, harvesting, weeding or culling infestations among the crops. In the eyes of the Kingdom he was a nobody. He was a boy with no name, abandoned by his family, stripped of all human identity.
He was identified by number alone. H1351+.
He was a tribute.
Ryl shook his head, ridding his brooding thoughts as his focus returned to the task at hand. They were alone in a foreign wilderness. The same unexplored, unforgiving wasteland that had spawned the abominations of the Outland Horde. Every step forward was another further into the unknown. They knew not where danger lurked, and he could ill afford a distracted mind.
Yet he was free.
Ryl had dreamed of freedom every day since the shock and finality of his station in life had sunk in. Life in The Stocks had been harsh. The daily regimen of abuse forever strived to extinguish even the slightest glimmer of hope from igniting a flame. Yet throughout all he had persisted. He’d never given up on hope, never truly believed that The Stocks was all life had in store.
The pair reached the summit of the low ridge, providing a thankful break from the sharpened points of the bushes. Their path forward disappeared into their midst of the jagged plants. Surveying the surrounding land, mile after mile of similarly featured terrain stretched out to the horizon.
Frequent, small outcroppings of boulders and low ridges broke the monotony of the desolate plains. Ryl was neither aware of the distance they’d travelled by boat, nor where they’d made landfall. Somewhere far to the east, fertile farmland stretched out for days until it collided with the western palisade.
Monochromatic shades of burnt amber, brown and black cloaked the entirety of the landscape and vegetation in a drab cover. To the north, several scattered groves of stunted trees pushed from the ground. Andr pointed toward the closest one, set adjacent to a small ridge.
“We'll head for that copse of trees,” the guard announced. “We've been hiking for a better portion of the day, we need to find more food, water and shelter. There's no telling what night will bring.”
Andr shook his water skin, it was more than halfway empty. Ryl didn't need to lift his, he knew his was worse off.
“Sounds like a good plan,” Ryl responded, trying to keep the growing anxiety of his thoughts from seeping into his voice.
With a nod of his head, Andr started down the ridge toward the distant clump of trees. The path between their location and the small grove was far less populated with the thorny bushes allowing the pair to make good time over the uneven terrain.
Their conversations were sporadic. They spoke little, moving primarily in silence, both seemingly lost in thought. Ryl realized that although Andr had helped him, saving his life on multiple occasions, he knew next to nothing about his traveling companion.
Andr's eyes never stopped scanning the horizon for any signs of life. They’d seen several long-eared hare dart through the underbrush and smaller rodents that scurried from their path, yet no sign of anything larger. The surrounding landscape was eerily quiet.
They reached the ridge and the small grove of stunted trees as the sun was making its descent to the west. Ryl admired the brilliant hues of reds and purples that stretched across the sky. For only the second time in nearly half of his short life, he enjoyed the view of the setting sun unobstructed by the dismal grey rock of the palisades stretching into the sky.
Andr circled back, stopping and placing his hand on Ryl's shoulder.
“Never could quite get used to the lack of natural sunrises or sunsets in The Stocks,” Andr said woefully. “Just wasn’t the same with those damn walls in the way.”
Ryl grunted in acknowledgement. Of all the questions that had been racing through his head since they landed on the shores of the Outlands, there was one that had plagued him incessantly.
“Andr?” Ryl asked with genuine curiosity. “How did you know about the phrenic?”
Andr brought his hand to face, rubbing the day-old stubble on his chin. He paused for a long moment in thought before responding.
“Truth be told, Ryl, it’s not something I understand myself,” Andr replied. He seemed distant, perplexed. “I've experienced more u
nexpected … more unbelievable happenings in the short time I've known you. My mind is still coming to terms.”
He turned to face Ryl.
“After I pulled you from the pool, I feared you were dead,” the mercenary reminisced. “The moments stretched for an eternity before you cleared the icy water from your lungs.”
His eyes wandered the horizon as the last sliver of sun disappeared below the land to the west.
“I pushed that horse hard out of Tabenville,” Andr said. “I've crossed the path through the Erlyn dozens of times, I know its twists and turns better than most. The path I rode on that night was foreign to me.”
Ryl turned to look at the guard in disbelief as he continued his tale.
“All the familiar landmarks were there, yet the road seemed to run straight as an arrow,” Andr said in disbelief. “There was an abnormal breeze through the forest that evening. It blew into the side of my face, like it was coming from the forest itself. There was a voice on the wind, I could feel it in my mind, repeating the same words over and over. Take him to the phrenic. Take him to the phrenic.”
Ryl was speechless. He stared unblinking at his companion. The Erlyn had come to his aid again. The forest had trusted Andr with the knowledge of the name erased from recorded history.