by C. J. Aaron
Ryl yearned for the comfort that he knew awaited under the boughs of the Erlyn. A span of fifty miles separated them, yet the call was so strong he could sense it from here. Without a word, he mounted his horse, spurring it to a steady trot north out of the village. There was no need to scan his surroundings. He felt the welcoming sensation of the phrenic following close behind.
The pair rode in silence for miles. Darkness had descended over The Stocks, though the sliver of the moon rising steadily in the eastern sky provided ample illumination for their travel.
Paasek eased his horse alongside Ryl’s; his gravelly voice broke the wordless silence that had fallen over them.
“What happened back there?” the phrenic inquired. His voice was curious though it resounded with compassion.
Ryl had been lost in his thoughts. He’d considered it thoroughly, though he struggled to find an answer. He wrestled with the truth of what had nearly become.
“I’m not entirely certain. My mind keeps drawing me back to that building,” Ryl muttered. “There are more memories there that I can recall. It was a respite for pleasant moments and a haven from the prying eyes of the guards. It was a place of desperation and of infinite sadness. Too many lives were mourned. Lost to their Harvest. Elias and I shared a room there for cycles until they took him too.”
For a moment, Ryl paused. The soothing clop of the horses’ hooves on the hard-packed earth was the only sound to break the still of the night.
“It was the emotion,” he admitted after a lengthy pause. “I let it consume me. For a time, I was lost in the memories of the past. I let my guard down. I didn’t hear the darkened whispers. I was woefully unprepared for the ferocity of its assault.”
Ryl could feel the alexen churning again in his veins. The constant activity holding the darkness welling inside him at bay. The weight of their control was painfully obvious.
“I would have slaughtered them all,” he whispered.
“Can you control it?” Paasek asked.
Ryl’s honest answer was startling. It chilled him.
“I don’t know.”
Chapter 6
The light from the cloudless night sky provided sufficient illumination for their trek. After their brief conversation, they rode in silence—both pondering the occurrences of the early evening.
Paasek had planned to push the pair until they passed the first waystation before resting themselves and the horses for the night. Less than a quarter of a mile beyond, there was a small grouping of trees, one of the few remaining patches that had survived being cleared in the distant past. There, Paasek and his companions had found temporary shelter during their frequent travels between the villages that capped either end of The Stocks.
The miles passed quickly as the horses made good time over the gently rolling landscape. They slowed, walking their mounts as they approached the settlement of Thayers Rest. Their appearance, materializing unannounced from the dark, had unsurprisingly spurred the guards stationed at the small habitation into a hasty defense. The cultivation of the fertile land was well underway. Teams of citizens now inhabited every work camp and habitation throughout The Stocks. Out of necessity, Le’Dral had seen fit to accompany each with a guard detail.
Movement at night, though expressly forbidden while he was a captive between these walls, now seldom garnered attention. The phrenics were known throughout the armed guards who now patrolled the entirety of The Stocks. The elaborate markings on their arms would have given them away nonetheless. Combined with the ever-present cloaks, there was no mistaking their identity.
Ryl was in no mood for conversation this evening. There were but a few pleasantries exchanged between the groups. He released a focused wave of pacifying comfort over the soldiers as they moved beyond, disappearing back into the night.
The moon was at its peak when they slowed again just south of the waypoint.
Ryl yawned as he dismounted. He made no attempt to hide his exhaustion. His phenic companion would have noted.
“You can rest soon, my friend,” Paasek called as he swung down from his horse at Ryl’s side. “I’ll take the first watch.”
“Thank you, Paasek,” Ryl acknowledged. The weariness he felt clawing at his consciousness was unusual. Its tendrils had yet to relinquish their hold since the incident in the common house. It was a peculiar feeling. One which he neither understood nor relished.
“The rest will do me well,” Ryl admitted. “I can feel the call of the woods. The comfort there will be well deserved.”
Ahead, the torches of the waystation flickered in the night. The glowing beacons illuminated the landscape for several meters in all directions. It stood out, an island of light in the sea of darkness.
“You never explained the true reason for recalling me to the woods,” Ryl noted as they walked their horses sluggishly toward the glow of the waystation. “Though I long to see my friends, to reconnect with the forest, there is more to my presence than you’ve let on.”
Paasek laughed. His low chuckle rumbled like the sound of distant thunder.
“Aye, there is ever more, Ryl, though there is no deceit,” he admitted. “The unawakened have blossomed in your absence. The budding phrenics, coming into their own simultaneously, have been trying for those who can sense their nature. The amount of uncontrolled emotion is enough to drive one mad. They will all do well with the steady hand and support of one they trust. Even if only for a matter of days.”
Ryl was puzzled and frustrated by the admission.
“You’ve surely not returned me to the Erlyn to teach them.” Ryl noted. “There’s more, is there not?”
“Aye. There is. The woods have been eerily quiet, yet every rustle of the leaves is laden with emotion,” Paasek added. “The Erlyn responds willingly to the commands of the phrenics and of Andr. There are a few unawakened who can open the paths through her midst. Yet the forest has a markedly different feel to her.”
Ryl shot a curious glance toward the phrenic. “The woods have survived for an eternity. I trust in her judgment, her self-preservation,” Ryl said. “She was weary when I left, yet her power was still far beyond comprehension. Her messages are difficult to comprehend, yet like the alexen, her will shall be revealed when the timing is right. Who among the unawakened can control her paths?”
“One surprises me. The other does not,” Paasek added. “The youngest among them, the seer Faya, moves her way among the branches, opening the pathways with an ease that is astounding. The other is more curious. The silent twin, Palon, spends his time when not training lost in study of the woods around our refuge. I’ve seen him watch the same tree for hours at a time, yet I’ve never heard him speak a word.”
Ryl grunted in response. Neither of the two revelations were surprising to him. Palon had hinted at his grasp of the true power within his blood shortly before Ryl’s Harvest. Faya, on the other hand, was a wonder to him.
The waystation ahead glowed in the dark. Ryl stopped abruptly as his eyes scanned the building. No horses occupied the small stable. A breeze blew from the south, rustling his cloak as it passed. The single door to the waystation thumped softly as it was pushed by the wind. Something prevented it from closing entirely.
The scene felt wrong. Le’Dral had dispersed his forces throughout The Stocks; the groups patrolled the road and settlements day and night.
“Something is off,” Ryl whispered. His left hand fell to the Leaves secured behind his back. With one fluid motion he removed the dormant weapon. The blade itched to burn to life, yet he stifled the urge as he stalked forward. The sound of a blade clearing its sheath sang from behind him as Paasek drew his great sword.
Darkness surrounded the glowing halo of light that swelled around the exterior of the single building of the waystation. They were nothing but darkened shadows as they crept forward. Ryl felt the heat within him swell as the alexen coursed through his veins.
He rushed to scan the area. His phrenic mindsight illuminated nothing sav
e for his companion stealthily approaching from his rear. The area surrounding the building was still. Only the muted gurgling of the lazy river to their east and the muffled crunch of the dirt underfoot disturbed the still of the night.
Ryl paused at the outer edge of the ring of light. Paasek continued his approach, angling toward the side of the building. Still partially hidden by the darkness, he allowed himself a moment to investigate the waystation before him. A window flanked the door in the center of the wall facing the dirt road. A narrow overhang extended outward a few meters, providing any who might inhabit the station a small degree of comfort from the elements. The lantern suspended from the ceiling of the low awning shifted slightly as a gust of wind swirled from the south. The door shifted, rebounding off the object that prevented its closure.
The alexen stormed through his veins in anticipation as the identity of the object was confirmed. It was visible for only a moment, yet there was no question as to its form.
A bloodied human hand blocked the inswing of the wooden door.
Ryl let the Leaves flare to life as he darted across the lighted circle. The orange glow of the lantern was washed out by the brilliant green flare of the burning blade. His lengthy paces carried him across the distance to the entrance in a moment. He held the glowing, serrated weapon out to the side as he wrenched the door open.
The wash of green light spilled into the room, illuminating the devastation inside. The waystation consisted of a single sparsely furnished room. A pair of bunk beds, chests for personal effects, and a small table with chairs encapsulated the entirety of the provisions. The cramped quarters demanded neatness, as there was little room for any excess clutter.
Shards of wood were scattered across the floor; the chairs were toppled and broken. One of the two sets of bunk beds leaned precariously against the other. Bodies were strewn throughout, lying in growing pools of crimson. Blood, still fresh, oozed down the walls. Ryl’s visual inspection was rapid. The corpses were all clothed in the similar drab uniform of the Cadsae Proper guard. Several bristled with the shafts of multiple arrows. All were slashed, their flesh and clothing stained and torn.
A short, shrill whistle sounded from the northern side of the building. Though he recognized the note, Ryl spun rapidly to view the caller. The wave of concern that rolled over his body was unquestionable. Paasek approached with haste and rounded the northern side of the building, having completed his circuit of the perimeter. His eyes darted from side to side, peering outward into the darkness for any signs of motion.
“Two guards lay dead behind the building,” he whispered. “Their bodies are still warm. The blood has yet to soak into the ground.”
“Aye. It’s the same inside,” Ryl hissed as he released his hold on the glowing blade. He moved quickly to the lantern suspended from the awning, snuffing out the flame with a focused blast of wind from his right arm.
The ring of light surrounding the waystation flickered out, plunging them into darkness. There was nothing more they needed to see here.
“There’s more, I’m afraid,” Paasek added. His voice was tinged with an unexpected layer of animosity. “Civilians. Perhaps a dozen. They all shared the same fate. They were butchered with the others.”
The alexen in Ryl’s veins burned at the statement. He felt the wave of revulsion rock his stomach, threatening to upend the contents inside. The guards and soldiers had signed on knowing that their lives might one day be ended at the tip of a blade. They understood the risks. Their lives were not to be spent in vain, yet the deaths of the civilians stung him. These people were survivors. They’d suffered through the massacre of an entire city. Many had likely taken part in the gruesome campaign to search for life in the wreckage of Cadsae Proper.
They’d be haunted by nightmares of the horrors they’d witnessed. Many had willingly committed to the simplicity of tending the fields and crops of The Stocks. The work was numbing, tedious. A perfect distraction from the trauma they’d been exposed to.
Still, they were not combatants. They were innocent. In a way, their fate was much like that of the families of the wayward tributes. Those whose parents chose to run were pursued relentlessly. They were tracked across the kingdom until they were discovered. Mercy was out of the question.
They were hunted.
Ryl felt his lips curl into a snarl.
“Hunters,” Ryl growled.
“They’d have needed numbers,” Paasek intoned. “No matter how inept the guards may have been, they’d have at least put up a fight. The numbers couldn’t have been in their favor.”
“A group that large would have left tracks,” Ryl added. “The soil will be soft this early in the season. The guards would have traveled by horses, yet their stable is empty. Their tracks should be easy to follow.”
Paasek sheathed his sword, though his eyes continued to rove the darkness that surrounded them.
“They grow bolder by the day,” Paasek admitted. “The assassination attempts on you, Le’Dral, and his officers were by no means surprising. Those who oppose the changes you’ve wrought will not cede their control of their tributes without a fight. They choose to attack from the shadows. They will strike at the citizens until they revolt against the very ones who saved them from the Horde.”
Ryl felt the darkened whisper blossom from within his core. Though the grumbling words were foreign, the sentiment was crystal clear.
Nothing would be changed without blood.
They had again loosed the hunters, the butchers of families, on the innocent. The degenerate killers had been once more given license to murder with impunity.
Ryl squeezed his hands into fists.
It was long past time for the tables to be turned.
“Paasek, stow the horses in the stable. We travel on foot, and we travel fast,” Ryl ordered. “The night is still young. It’s time we hunt.”
Chapter 7
Ryl and Paasek located the tracks leading from the waystation with ease. It was of little surprise that it was the footprints of men, not horses that were the easiest to identify. The hunters had likely run the horses up the hard-packed road to disguise their spoor before cutting afield.
Those who had butchered the guards and civilians understood the lay of the land within The Stocks. They were familiar with the vast tracts of fertile land where few traveled routinely. Under the cover of darkness they could move in secret. To the west of the road, the plots of crops stretched out for a few miles, yet beyond that Ryl was unsure of what remained. Between there and the stone of the western palisade, little else save for fields of wild grasses and several small copses of trees.
Ryl and Paasek crept through the field, following the narrow, beaten-down walkways that separated the crops from the working surface. It was among the carefully manicured lines that they found the tracks they were looking for.
The hunters who had slaughtered the guards and the civilians had far greater bloodlust than concern for the crops beneath their feet. Those who worked the soil tread carefully, minding their footfalls not to damage the growth they’d labored over. Even in the moonlight, the heavy imprints of boots heading to and from the waystation were obvious. Ryl whistled a short, shrill blast, calling Paasek to his position.
“To the west,” he whispered.
The pair stalked the tracks until they exited the area of tilled earth, weaving into the wild grasses of the plain. With no clear path ahead, they continued in line with the westerly direction they’d been moving. Ryl called them to a stop as they ducked into the grasses atop the first rise.
The moonlight bathed the interior of The Stocks with a dull blue glow. The breeze blowing from the south had intensified, the cold chill signaling the coming of a storm. Glimmers of the moon’s light reflected off the sheen of the swaying grasses. The wild fields looked alive, rippling like water in the wind. Further to the west, the palisade in the distance was nothing more than a darker shaded line stretching across the horizon. Scattered across the rolling hi
lls were several patches of trees.
Ryl studied the terrain for a few moments, watching the undulating waves of grasses. He shook his head as he noted the discrepancy among the hills. At first glance, he had missed the sign. After leaving the crops, the hunters had been cautious. They had plotted their course with care, weaving among valleys of the rolling hills to disguise their tracks among the deeper shadows and thinning vegetation.
With a nod to his phrenic companion, the pair continued their pursuit into the wilds of The Stocks. Ryl had never previously explored this area. Throughout his cycles here, there was little time or energy for endeavors outside of their prescribed tasks.
Few words needed to be exchanged between the pair. Though not of the same scout group, Paasek had served as Ryl’s tutor prior to his awakening. Aside from Ramm and Vox, he knew the phrenic counselor well. They had routinely shared the experiences of simulated combat as well as the unpredictable tide of battle. They had fought side by side before the Prophet’s Tree and stood in defiance before the gates, holding back the wave of devastation of the Horde. They profited from the innate comprehension that only the alexen could provide.
The pale glow of the moonlight combined with their phrenic senses made for easy travel. The soothing swishing of the tall, wild grasses covered the sounds of their movements. Ryl was less concerned that they’d be discovered—with dark cloaks and abnormal speed, they were little more than shadows across the darkened terrain.
The pair tracked to the west for miles. Ryl maintained a vigilant surveillance of the landscape with all his senses, both phrenic and natural. Gusts of wind increased from the south. The intensity and the frequency carried with it the first drops of water from the leading edge of the incoming storm’s charge.
With the advance of the inclement weather, Ryl and Paasek took measured steps to abandon some of the stealth they had assumed to that point. Dark clouds now blanketed most of the sky to the south, spreading rapidly to the north, aided by the strength of the winds above. They tapped into a hint of their unnatural speed, easily covering the rolling terrain.