The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4)

by C. J. Aaron

  Andr ventured a glance back at Ryl. His face cracked a momentary grin upon the sight of his friend. Ryl would have overturned every fallen leaf in the forest to find her. If only he would wake. He knew there would be no force strong, or foolish, enough to hold him back.

  “Thank you again for the help, Jeffers,” Andr said. He patted the mender on the shoulder as he strode toward the door. His path weaved around the bodies of both guard and tributes alike.

  The atmosphere outside the makeshift clinic was surprisingly warm despite the darkness that had befallen the land. Andr glanced skyward. His gaze was rewarded by the twinkling of stars in a clear night sky that was visible through the large gap in the trees. The dull light from the moon poured through the opening, bathing the area in a glow that appeared abnormally bright. He shrugged off the discrepancy.

  Strange things seemed to follow the phrenics.

  Seemed to follow Ryl.

  The majority of the massive opening was calm, the bulk of activity focused on one area. Between the moonlight, bonfire, and torches that were suspended from the base of the massive trees, navigating the area was a simple task. His trained eyes captured the shadows of the patrolling guards who stalked along the forest’s edge. All but one of the great hollowed-out trunks were now in use by their makeshift army. The last remained dark, though occupied nonetheless. Andr understood the identity of the temporary inhabitants.

  A large gathering, several hundred strong, swelled around the grassy exterior of this darkened shelter. Heated discussion carried through the still of the inner sanctum of the woods. Even from his position, well away from the meeting, it was clear that party lines had been drawn. Verbal arguments from the dueling sides crashed against each other, breaking like waves rolling against the shore. Neither appeared to be making any headway.

  As Andr approached, the voices resolved into more than just noise. He quickened his steps as the inflections became more hostile.

  “We’ve turned our back on the kingdom to protect you. There’s no stopping those demons in there,” a guard shouted at the group massed before the doorway. From behind him came an echoing of similar sentiment.

  “You saw what just one of them did.”

  “They’ll kill us all.”

  “There’s no hope left for them.”

  Andr was surprised to see a handful of tributes mixed in with the lot.

  The opposing side stood with their backs protectively to the opening of the tree. Within the shelter, the bound, unconscious shells of the Lei Guard remained. The sentiment here was of mercy. Their numbers were far greater.

  Standing in the opening of the tree, arms crossed across his chest, was a veritable mountain of a man. The phrenic, Ramm, stood like a statue, forming an immovable doorway to the captives within.

  “These were our brothers. Our sisters. Have you forgotten that?” A man nearly as large as Ramm pushed to the front of the group. The twins flanked him on either side.

  For his part, Le’Dral stood in the middle of the two groups. His arms were outstretched as if he were singularly responsible for holding back the tide on both sides. For the moment, he held them at bay. His voice was raised, barking out orders to stand down to his troops, and pleading for calm among the incensed tributes.

  Andr was surprised to feel an unexpected surge of anger wash over his body. Having spent enough time with the phrenics, it was clear that the emotion was unplanned. The sensation was unfocused and raw. It was unrefined, pouring out as the stress of the situation pushed its host’s body beyond its limit.

  A wave of calm countered the release a moment later. It covered the group with a focused intent. Andr noted Vox appear from the entrance of the great tree before retreating below to stand guard over the Lei Guard within. Though several heads scattered among the assembled crowd turned, searching for the source, or puzzling at the unexpected balm, the tension largely remained. The tone of the raised voices, however, noticeably softened.

  Andr paused a few meters from the edge of the crowd. Scanning the group, he spied Nielix standing a few steps back from the captain. The Vigil was silent, though his eyes darted from person to person as if assessing the threat. Their eyes met for an instant. Andr shook his head as he acknowledged the futility of the current discussions.

  With a shrug of his shoulders, he stepped forward, edging closer to the crowd. Putting his fingers to his mouth, he issued a piercing, high-pitched whistle.

  “Enough,” the mercenary boomed.

  The silence that followed shortly was deafening. The weight of the attention that fell on him was crushing. He became the focal point for their contentious glares as he calmly strode into the gathering.

  All eyes followed him as he moved onward. His gaze carried over the group, meeting eyes with as many as possible. Andr felt his heart race for an instant as his vision locked with Cray’s. The look they shared was only a matter of a moment, yet he felt the thrill, the excitement in the connection.

  His boy lived. His son’s selfless act, though clumsy and untrained, had likely saved his life. Andr had been fighting a losing battle against Elias. He’d held his own, yet his actions had been permanently on the defensive. It was only a matter of time before he would have been cut down. Whether as the result of a fatal mistake or their poorly matched skill set, his death would have come momentarily.

  The pride swelled in him as he steered his path so it would pass beside Cray. Andr clapped his son on the shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze, though he continued moving. With a nod of his head, he mouthed the words, “Thank you,” as he carried on. The truth would need to come to light sooner rather than later. There had been too many close calls over the last few days. He resolved to let the boy know at the next possible opportunity.

  Andr stopped as he reached Le’Dral’s side. The mob of tributes and guards had seemed to constrict around the captain. He rotated in place as he surveyed the entirety of the assembled group.

  “Look at the faces of those who you have bound before you,” Andr called to the crowd, motioning to the opening of the tree behind him. “Their actions, while abhorrent, were certainly not their own. They, like some of you now, have been blinded by emotion. By hatred.”

  “They’re nothing but butchers now,” came the cry from a voice among the crowd to his rear. By the time he’d spun to face the speaker, the spokesman was anonymous.

  A distant wave of emotion rolled over him, tickling his senses. Unlike the uncoordinated, unrefined feelings from the tributes or the focused intent of the phrenics, this enveloped him, washing over him from all sides at once. Beginning as a slight tingle, it grew in intensity. Though it continued unrelenting, the sensation wasn’t constant. It seemed to ebb and flow, pulsing stronger and stronger, like the beating of a distant heart.

  “I’ve seen the life that these poor souls have to bear after their Harvest,” Andr continued, shrugging off the mounting sensation. If others in the group experienced a similar effect, none gave any outward indication of its presence.

  “There is no life but endless pain,” he explained. “Drop by drop they are broken. Drained with sluggish precision of every last speck of the essence that confined you to The Stocks in the first place. Of that which makes you an asset to them. It’s a power that they crave. A power that they fear.”

  The throbbing sensation intensified before suddenly shifting its emphasis. It crashed into him, a volume and a voice. It called to him. Andr paused, swinging his head toward the source. His feet moved of their own volition as he was drawn toward the border of the woods behind the edge of the massive tree.

  “Nothing will be gained from slaying those who are helpless in your grasps.” The words seemed to pour freely from his mouth, though his attention to the crowd waned. His focus was locked on the woods.

  “Don’t fall prey to the same hate that blinded them.” Andr’s words trailed off as he moved through the crowd.

  “What are we to do?” The question seemed to resonate from the lips of many.
Andr paid them no mind.

  The thrum of the call lured him onward.

  Dav reached his side as he crossed beyond the outer edge of the gathering. They had parted before him like water around a stone. He moved as though there were none in his path.

  “Andr?” Dav asked. The worry was written across his face. Clearly evident in his voice. He placed a hand on Andr’s shoulder. The mercenary never faltered, stepping away as if nothing had happened.

  Andr felt as if he were an unwitting spectator within the prison that was his body. The occurrences around him grew increasingly nondescript. Motion blurred into mere colors and shades. Sounds muddled from words into an unintelligible garble of noise. To his ears the commotion sounded like the rustling of leaves in the face of a stiff breeze.

  The steady thrum of a pulse resounded. Its distinct beat was loud enough to hear atop the noise. He felt each percussive thump as it rippled through his body.

  As he progressed, the motion, the blurring in his peripherals steadily changed. The distorted images blurred further as the remaining details dissolved. The continued shift was disorienting, further confusing his senses. His surroundings appeared to move with a dizzying speed while at the same time freezing with the complete absence of motion. He found his mind was at a loss to comprehend.

  Ahead, a solitary image resolved.

  A single tree took shape from the edge of the Erlyn. The arboreal target was nondescript, ordinary, neither overly large nor undersized. He’d patrolled the boundaries of the circle prior to this moment. Heightened by a lifetime under duress, Andr considered his attention to the small, seemingly trivial details careful. Nothing had stood out previously. Why now was he drawn here?

  As was the case with much of the fabled forest, the views into the interior were sparse, even in broad daylight. With little more than the light of the moon and stars overhead, the deep, impenetrable darkness was absolute.

  Andr paused as he reached the edge of the woods. Ahead, the lone tree remained in focus. He struggled to scour the details of the forest on either side, yet they remained lost in a blur of color.

  The tree itself was unremarkable. Its bark was ashen in the pale moonlight, though streaks of orange highlighted the vertical grains and blemishes on its face. Overhead several branches curved outward. Their pointed leaves were toothed.

  The pull from within the forest swelled. Andr knew in that instant what he must do. Why he was drawn to the tree. With a deep steadying breath, he reached out his hand, placing it on the smooth bark.

  A sudden jolt of energy preceded the deluge of information.

  Chapter 9

  The path ahead was clear. Andr found himself striding forward at a measured pace. Trees lined either side of the straight walkway wide enough to comfortably account for three abreast. A thick veil of bushes, brambles, and vines obscured the views further into the Erlyn’s midst. The thin trees on either side reached their branches inward, forming a low ceiling overhead.

  In the distance, he could make out the dull glow of moonlight as the pathway opened to another clearing. Scattered patches of glowing mosses provided faint illumination. The air inside the forest was still. The earthy scents were strong here. Gone were all hints of the acrid smoke and the thick metallic tang of dried blood that seemed to linger throughout their expansive shelter.

  The neatly swept appearance of the surface underfoot belied the infrequent use of the route he now traveled. The muffled impact of his foot as it struck the hard earth below was steady, rhythmic, as it stepped along with the tempo of his heart. The forest around seemed to pulse in time.

  Step after step he moved onward. He walked with a determined purpose, his focus set on the opening ahead. It wasn’t long before a second sound grew to his left. Andr heard the soft padding of footsteps approaching from the rear. The trained mercenary instinctually let his hand fall subtly to the hilt of his sword. The feel of the weapon’s grip in his hand was comforting, yet strangely enough he found no desire to unsheathe the blade. He knew he had nothing to fear here. With a casual ease, he pivoted his head, greeting the figure who approached.

  “You’ll have no use for that here, my friend,” the newcomer intoned. His head gestured to the weapon at Andr’s side.

  “Aye. I suppose it’s a force of habit,” Andr replied with a shrug of his shoulders. The man nodded in response.

  Andr needed no introduction to recognize the figure that now joined him. The body was partially opaque. The fleeting hint of the trees behind gave off a disconcerting sensation of motion. A thin, faint green glow shone from the outline of his form though it cast no light on the ground underfoot.

  He wore a long grey cloak with the hood raised. The shadow obscured the view of the upper half of his face. A wispy grey beard stretched downward from his chin. His right arm was exposed from the shoulder down to his hand. From where his cloak stopped, the skin was covered in an intricate array of tattoos. The details were astounding yet undeniably perplexing. They appeared to move with a speed that defied the ability to make out their designs.

  Da’agryn.

  The prophet matched his steps with ease. A smile invaded the corners of his lips.

  The ancient phrenic, or whatever form he remained in, moved along at his side. The pace of his ethereal form matched the rhythm of his own, the sound of their footsteps merged together into one steady pace. Andr had the distinct impression that the noise of Da’agryn’s motions was more for a show of realism. It was a subtle touch, used to alleviate any undue surprise at his sudden appearance. Andr risked a brief glance downward. The prophet’s feet moved in time with his yet appeared to fade into the earthen path below.

  Da’agryn’s form wavered as he walked silently at his side.

  “Where are you taking me?” Andr inquired.

  “It is not I who am taking you anywhere,” Da’agryn replied softly. His voice was airy. He sounded weary. “In this venture, I am as surprised as you.”

  Andr was puzzled by the comment.

  “How could you not know? You’ve been a part of this forest for ages.” He immediately regretted the tone and inflection of his voice. His face gave away his emotion. Da’agryn chuckled at his side.

  The sound was more like leaves rustling in the trees than human laughter.

  “The Erlyn has always maintained her wonders,” the prophet intoned as he spread his arms wide toward the woods at both sides. “Remember, she is as alive as you are. There are likely secrets that will remain hers to keep for ages still.”

  Andr’s eyes roved the pathway ahead. They ran from one side to the other, cataloging every detail they could grasp. He peered into the depths with wonder. How could one place hold so much unseen for so long? A new appreciation for his surroundings swelled from within.

  “You see, there is little of her domain left in this world,” the prophet opined. “Her power used to be vast. The majesty of her boughs stretched hundreds of miles. What is left of her influence has been condensed. For her part, she is willing to assist. It is an offering that should not be taken lightly.”

  Andr opened his mouth to reply. The boon that the woods had provided him had already likely saved his life on multiple occasions. Though he’d been curious about the extent of the woodskin, its strength had been put on display as his chest had borne the brunt of a guard’s blade. What should have been a mortal wound had amounted to nothing more than torn clothing and a scratch.

  “I do not imply that you take for granted the gifts she willingly provided,” Da’agryn interrupted. “Weak as she may be, her domain will yet be of assistance to you, your kind, the phrenics, and those you know as the tributes.”

  As Da’agryn finished speaking, Andr reacted to a tingling along his right side. The air between his body and the wooden edge of the pathway took on a noticeably altered state. The air had a density that he could feel. It weighed on him with a pressure that was incongruous with normal air. It seemed to crackle with energy and power. The tiny hairs on his exposed a
rm stood tall, pulling toward the magnetic attraction of the anomaly.

  Andr turned his head to his right. The woods beside him were unremarkable from the rest of the pathway that surrounded him. He noted the slightest hint of distortion. A faint shimmering of the air at his side seemed to shift on its own. He gently waved his hand outward, the tingle of electricity grew, yet his arm continued without pause.

  “The Erlyn has something she desires to show us, so we follow,” Da’agryn stated matter-of-factly.

  The clearing ahead resolved as they steadily approached. Though his vision was shielded by the narrow confines of the pathway, Andr noted the presence of several slender trees. They were all slightly varying shades of light grey. All had the disturbing appearance of being dead, almost petrified.

  The arboreal pathway ended without warning. Andr let out an involuntary gasp as the scene unfolded before him. The clearing ahead was unlike any he’d seen before within the interior of the forest. He glanced at the prophet to his side. For his part, the ancient phrenic examined the area with a noted air of surprise.

  The clearing was rectangular in shape, stretching perhaps twenty meters at its width and easily double that in length. Tall, slender trees were scattered throughout; their variety was unknown. For the first several meters the trunks were smooth and straight. Their bark was a bland ashy color. It was thin and brittle looking. In places, it had peeled away from the trunk, like parchment curling from the heat of a flame, revealing the similarly shaded wood behind it.

  Several meters up, a curious ring of uniformed-sized branches spread out from the trunk. The offshoots were stubby, riddled with knots and twigs. Higher up, thin branches split off at random, though all were squat like those below. None held a single leaf. Draping down from the first ring of branches, however, long tendrils of charcoal-colored vines reached almost to the ground.

  Andr looked at the earth around the base of the tree. No leaves littered the soil. Though the trees appeared dead. No errant twigs crowded the gaps between their trunks. Strangely enough, the pungent smell of rotting leaves wafted into his nose as a mild breeze rolled through the clearing.