Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3) Page 3

  The day passed slowly as Ryl's charges were less than talkative. His attention was focused intently on their actions, or lack thereof. Every abnormally large breath, every involuntary noise drew his scrutiny. He routinely checked to verify that they were still breathing, oftentimes leaning in close, feeling for the faint puff of breath on his skin. The air from their lungs was startlingly cold, sending a chill down his spine. Each registered a faint yellow glow in the vision of his phrenic mindsight. How long would they remain in this condition?

  Would they ever wake?

  Ryl heard the muted, “whoa” from Dav, who was driving the wagon, as the sound of hooves thundered on the ground, fast approaching from the front. He was relieved as he heard Andr's voice announcing his presence.

  Moments later, the flap to his wagon shifted apart as the mercenary poked his head through. He lifted the covering further to reveal the phrenic elementalist standing behind.

  “Ryl, Vox will take over for a few,” Andr announced. “There's something I think you should see.” A small grin broke through the normally impassive look on his friend’s face.

  Ryl regarded Andr curiously for a moment as he clambered carefully over the tributes. He hopped down with ease, stretching himself out with a sigh of relief as Vox climbed in to take his place. The feeling of the solid ground beneath his feet was mildly disorienting. Even after only a matter of hours riding in the wagon, the earth felt as if it was moving past him while his body remained still.

  He followed Andr silently as they made for the pair of horses loosely lashed to a small tree along the right side of the rugged path. To their left, a steep bank careened downward for several meters to the waters of the sluggish, placid river below. The noise of the quiet gurgle of water now that he was removed from the wagon was soothing.

  The air was fresh, far more pleasant than in the rear of the merchant's wagon. The heat was bordering on stifling; the interior had begun to smell with a funk that brought back a torrent of unpleasant memories.

  Memories of his childhood.

  Memories of his first trip to The Stocks.

  Ryl had only been in the rear of the black wagon they had confiscated from the Lei Guard for a moment before razing the facility. Every second inside felt like an eternity, even though his situation had altered dramatically since then. He’d endured several torturous weeks locked within the black wagon after his parents had sold him to the Kingdom when his alexen was discovered. His fingers were scraped and bleeding from pounding at the unyielding boards of the walls. His voice was gone after days of screaming for help. His hope, destroyed.

  He had no answers then. No understanding of what was to come.

  Ryl shuddered as he fought back the emotions from the past. Much had changed since then, yet the destination was still the same.

  The Stocks.

  He’d be returning to where it all began. This time with answers.

  This time with hope.

  He mounted the horse with ease, following Andr at a canter ahead of their companions. To their right, the thinning remnants of a forest dotted the hillside along the path. Between the trees, scattered images of the jagged peaks of the Haven Mountains poked in and out of view.

  Across the small river to their east, the landscape was marked by rolling hills; their tall, wild grasses swaying in the mild breeze. Occasional groves of trees were scattered among the hills. The sun was only a few hands into the partly clouded sky.

  Ahead of them, the river cut a waving line through another small forest; the trees grew dense and close together again on either side. Andr veered his horse to the right at the edge of the woods, heading west ascending a small ridge.

  Ryl's horse snorted in protest as it stumbled on the loose stones below its feet. He comforted it with a gentle pat and a wave of calm, easing it carefully forward up the loose incline. At the top of the hill above, he could see Kaep, sitting statuesque on her mount. The hood of her cloak was down and her hair cascaded out behind her. Her frame was silhouetted against the late morning sky, her attention focused to the southwest.

  Andr stopped his mount along the right side of Kaep's horse. Ryl was only a few paces behind, coming to a halt on her left. She turned as he approached, greeting him with a quick smile before returning her gaze to the horizon.

  From the top of the rise they had an astonishing view of the surrounding landscape. To their right, far to the north, the Haven Mountains began. Their impassable peaks materialized from the horizon, continuing their jagged course past their overlook to the south. Ryl followed their path until his view reached where Kaep's gaze had been trained. His eyes came to an abrupt stop.

  So too did the mountains.

  “I figured you'd want to see them at first sight,” Andr offered quietly.

  To the southwest, the Haven Mountains’ southerly reach came to a sheer stop before turning west toward the sunset. Toward the Outlands.

  Where the mountains ended, a second, unnatural wall of stone continued due south.

  The Palisades.

  Aside from the massive Pining Gate, he had seen virtually none of the exterior of the looming walls. The stone was the same drab, ashy grey as the interior’s surface. The oppressive feeling that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves was shockingly potent even from this vantage, more than a day’s ride away.

  Ryl shuddered.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, not taking his eyes off the dreaded wall.

  The initial sight of the eastern Palisade elicited a potent visceral response. The emotions that rushed through him were overwhelming, accompanied by memories just as vivid. Fear. Agony. Heartbreak. Acceptance. Hope.

  Ryl recalled the fear of his first moments inside The Stocks. Just a boy of eight cycles, he’d arrived battered and broken with no understanding of why. The hate-filled eyes and acidic tone of Master Delsith terrified him. The ominous, hollow thud of the Pining Gate behind him sent a shiver down his spine.

  There was agony. Ryl felt the sting of fists and the hammer of boots as the guards beat him mercilessly. He’d stood up to the depravity of the wicked sub-master Osir. His body had paid a painful price for the decision, one that had nearly cost him his life.

  At the culmination of every cycle the heartbreak returned once more. One after another, cycle after cycle, the Harvest robbed him of the tributes he’d grown to love. To call family. The anguish never more potent than the final image of Elias. The crooked smile and wink of his best friend, his brother, were etched into his mind. The sudden absence had left an irreparable wound in his heart.

  The alexen that flowed through his veins had robbed him of his biological family, casting him aside as an outcast of society. The mysterious compound had been used to segregate him, yet within those walls it had accepted him with an all-encompassing welcome. He and all other tributes, despite being strangers before their delivery to The Stocks, were bound by a tie that was unbreakable. He felt the warmth of Sarial’s motherly embrace as if she was at his side at that very moment.

  Then there was hope. The guards, the Kingdom, the Master; they had failed in their attempts to snuff out the flame. Though it had faltered, it had now been rekindled, nurtured into the inferno that raged inside him. The lost history entrusted to him from Da’agryn. The boon from the ancient woods herself. The understanding of the powers lurking within his blood. Within the Palisades’ walls, all had aided in constructing the hope that had brought him to today.

  Ryl looked on, lost in the tormenting array of thoughts that accompanied the sight of the wall. The gentle brush of a hand on his right arm would likely have been overlooked had it not contained a startling jolt of energy that rushed up his arm.

  He swung his head to the side, his eyes traveling upward from the delicate features and smooth skin of the bare hand on his arm. Kaep's eyes were wide with surprise and uncertainty, though her face held a consoling expression. He watched as her startled look darted from where her hand rested on his tattooed arm, returning to his face once m
ore.

  As her hand lingered, their gazes locked, each delving into the depths of one another’s eyes. Her touch had washed away any trace of the lingering tormented emotions that had returned unbidden at the first glimpse of the palisade.

  Where there was the oppressive weight of agony and torment, now there was … an entirely new sensation. A feeling rooted more deeply to The Stocks than all the pain, humiliation and heartbreak combined.

  Hope.

  Ryl felt the fire burn in his veins. His dogged determination boiled over as it coursed through every inch of his body. He watched the corner of Kaep's lips slowly turn up into a steadily growing smile.

  She seemed to struggle momentarily as if her body fought her attempts to remove her hand from his skin—that she felt some semblance of the same magnetic energy, he was certain.

  “The look in your eyes speaks volumes, Ryl,” Kaep whispered. “Never fear. The walls will crumble in your path.”

  “The Stocks will fall.”

  Chapter 4

  Ryl remained with the lead scouting party ahead of the staggered caravan. Andr remained at his side as they resumed their trek toward Milstead. Even in the low light of the early morning, from his position atop the hill, he'd noted the thin wisps of smoke rising from the chimneys of the small town to the south..

  The distance was still great, and they'd need to push hard to make Geshill's farm before dark. The rugged, winding and narrow path was not built for speed. The unchecked advance of the forest choked the roadway tightly and the wagons scraped against the branches above as they plodded through its midst.

  By midday they were thankfully free from the torturously slow procession through the trees. Ahead, the river narrowed, though the banks along its sides increased their slope. A rickety looking wooden bridge spanned the distance between the two banks.

  There was uncertainty written across their faces as they came to a halt before the structure. Barely wide enough for a wagon to pass, the bridge had a telltale look of age. The crossing was in truth nothing more than a simple walkway of close-fitting boards supported by large timbers that ran the length of the gap underneath. On each bank two weathered ropes were fixed to wooden poles that had been hammered into the ground. The twin ropes stretched across, forming sagging guardrails that delineated the edges of the bridge. The road had left them no choice but to make the crossing. They would have neither the time, nor the supplies, to retrace their steps to the north. Their timeline was finite. They must reach Milstead, and then The Stocks, with haste.

  Ryl and the remaining riders dismounted before hesitantly leading their mounts across the bridge. One horse at a time they inched forward, careful to avoid the more dilapidated looking lumber. The creaks and groans from the aged timbers were alarming, but thankfully each rider crossed without issue.

  The wagons were up next for the crossing. Aldren's was the first to make the attempt. The stubborn mounts at the lead were less enthusiastic about their intended course, yet with a moderate amount of coaxing from their experienced master, slowly eased onto the wooden span over the divide.

  Halfway across, there was a sickeningly loud snapping of wood. A shower of splinters rained down from underneath the bridge, splashing into the water below. A large chunk of one of the beams running parallel to the river's path swung free, waving back and forth like a pendulum under the walkway.

  Aldren spurred his horses forward at the sound. His wagon was several lengths from the crossing on solid ground before he reined in his mounts. The merchant was visibly shaken by the ordeal; the color of his face had faded to white as he looked back over the bridge. His hands were trembling as he clutched them to his chest. His shoulders rose and fell with every rapid, pronounced breath.

  Andr had volunteered to drive the remaining wagon, the black wagon of the Lei Guard, across the gap. From his position on the far side, his eyes clouded with a trace of concern as he examined the timbers of the decaying bridge.

  “We need to get the tributes out,” he shouted across the span of the river. "We can’t afford the extra weight."

  The sentiment struck a mutual chord with Ryl. From the expressions that marred his companion’s faces he understood the feeling was common amongst them all. He could feel the anxiety exuding from them as they waited anxiously on the opposite bank.

  Ryl was the first to return over the bridge wasting no time circling to the rear of the wagon. The remainder of the party apart from Ramm returned to assist unloading and carrying the laden, makeshift stretchers of the unconscious tributes across the bridge. The large phrenic happily remained at the back of Aldren's wagon watching over the still form of Elias.

  Working in pairs, the helpless tributes were carefully maneuvered across the bridge. Once safely back on land, their litters were deposited on a patch of long grass that grew to the right of the road. The morning sun warmed their skin while a gentle breeze worked to erase the growing odor of their rolling clinic. Their bodies remained still as they awaited the removal of the last of their number.

  Once the final tribute had been successfully retrieved, Andr began the harrowing process of driving the wagon across the damaged bridge. Slowly he urged the horses forward. Groans of protest sounded immediately.

  Andr's steady pace had carried him nearly halfway across the bridge when another violent snapping sound tore through the air. The horses, spooked by the sound, stomped their feet in protest, rearing back, nearly toppling Andr from his seat. From behind the carriage, Ryl watched as the large wooden beam that accounted for the downstream edge of the bridge bowed slightly before splitting near the opposite bank.

  “Andr, the bridge is collapsing!” Ryl shouted.

  The mercenary struggled to regain his seat. The large draft horses at the front panicked, stomping their feet in a frantic cadence. The bridge wobbled wildly under the failing of the timbers and the assault of the hooves.

  Ryl focused on the horses, desperately forcing emotion upon them. Fear. It was fight or flight.

  “Run,” he screamed.

  The horses surged forward as Andr regained his footing. He was tossed backward into the seat as the carriage lurched forward. As they crossed the last few meters, the timber that formed the upstream beam of the bridge split from the opposite bank, collapsing into the river below. The carriage leaned hard to the side as it caught the edge of the bank, before slamming back down as all four wheels crossed onto solid ground.

  Behind it, the remainder of the fractured bridge slipped backward into the water. The jagged ends of rotted timbers protruded starkly from the ground on either bank. The ancient ropes rocked in the wind, now all that remained to span the gap.

  Andr reined the horses in alongside Aldren's wagon. He jumped down, gingerly rubbing the right side of his head. A small patch of blood marked the hairline above his temple where he had struck the side of the carriage.

  Ryl watched as he surveyed the ruin of the bridge while dabbing at the blood with the palm of his hand.

  “That was too close. Again,” the mercenary admitted.

  Ryl forced a smile. He was in complete agreement. In their haste, they had now destroyed both bridges leading to and from the small town of Serrate. Though he felt a twinge of remorse for the undue complications it would undoubtedly cause for the villagers that lived there, it would thankfully delay word of the events at the now destroyed processing facility.

  “Let's get them loaded back up and some food in all our bellies,” Andr suggested. “We've lost enough daylight. We have ground to make up.”

  The rest of the party jumped into action at his words, hastening to load the fallen tributes back into their mobile clinics. Once their charges were settled, rations delivered, and consumed with haste.

  According to Aldren, with the river behind them, the ill-used path would soon rejoin the busier thoroughfare. They'd maintain distance between the wagons while keeping a vigilant, watchful eye on their surroundings.

  The bulk of the black cloaks that Aldren had la
bored over were yet far from being complete. The merchant had focused on finishing the designs for the group that would accompany the black carriage from the river to Milstead.

  Though they were only to be separated by a matter of a mile, Ryl felt a sense of profound discomfort as they assumed their prescribed traveling parties. Ryl, Andr, Dav and Kaep were to accompany Aldren and his wagon in the lead. Ramm, Vox, Soldi and Nielix would travel under the guise of the Lei Guard with the black wagon.

  The two phrenics of the rear party, Ramm and Vox, slipped into the black cloaks newly created by Aldren. They would be driving the feared wagon; Soldi was to attend to the ailing tributes inside, while Nielix was responsible for the rear guard.

  Much responsibility had been placed on the shoulders of the talented Vigil. His complacency had been the cause of his failure in the forest only days earlier. His lax attitude had found him sleeping while the assassins had approached silently through the darkness. As a result, Deyalou, master swordsman, phrenic defender of Vim, had died.

  The hidden city of Vim had lost a valued piece of their phrenic army. The phrenics had lost a valued member of their beleaguered society. To their knowledge, only sixteen awakened phrenics remained alive to this day.

  In The Stocks, nearly three hundred and fifty tributes—phrenics—awaited freedom.

  Ryl would see them free.

  He would see them awakened.

  Chapter 5

  The narrow road from the river continued uninterrupted through the thinning remnants of the forest. Though a chill had remained throughout the day, the warming rays of a full sun shone down from above. The pleasant song of birds filled the air.

  It was only a matter of miles before their small path from the forest met with the larger, more heavily traveled thoroughfare. The Bredth was a rough, dirt road that spanned the length of the Kingdom; from the southern shores of the Sea of Prosper to the frozen northern coast.