The Weight of Darkness (Catalyst Book 5)

by C. J. Aaron

  Even now, he felt the subtle change in the atmosphere. The Erlyn, though her relief and welcome were unmistakable, had seemed content to let him enjoy the peace of his first evening back without interruption. Now, there was a muffled sense of urgency in the air. It nagged at him.

  Ryl stretched as he moved across the clearing. Much of the usable terrain aside from the training center had been converted into makeshift sleeping areas as the influx of troops demanded far more space than the enclosed bases of the trees could provide. Andr spoke with Paasek, Lenu and a group of guards near the remains of the fire in the center of the expanse.

  “Good morning,” Ryl greeted the group as he stopped aside the withered remains of the night’s fire. Though the temperature in the woods was pleasant, the morning retained the hint of a chill. He warmed his hands over the coals.

  “I’ve yet to see the mender,” Ryl noted. “Or the clinic for that matter. Where is Jeffers?”

  “It was Jeffers’s opinion that those critically in need of care be moved back under the roof of the clinic in Tabenville,” Andr answered for the group. “There are still a handful of guards who require more intensive attention. The dirt floor of Erlyn, though she has been more than an amenable host, understandably didn’t suit his needs. Sarial accompanied him, under the guard of close to half the Vigil and a contingent of guards.”

  “And before you worry, a phrenic has accompanied them,” Paasek interjected. “I’ve been assured that none will pass through the woods without her grace.”

  Ryl’s gaze traveled to the trees that surrounded the interior clearing. The regret for the occurrences that had transpired under her watch was visible. It hung off her branches like the creeping vines that disguised the interior of her domain.

  The track of his vision fell on the motion around the base of the great tree in the distance. Several figures moved, shuffling along with uncoordinated steps. It was almost as if they were learning to walk again for the first time. Even from a distance, Ryl noted the paleness of their skin. The angry, bright red of their brands stood out against their ashen flesh. They moved together, almost the same way a pack sticks together for safety. For comfort.

  He knew their identity in that instant.

  They were the tributes they had rescued from the processing facility in the shadow of the Martrion ruins.

  Andr turned his head, noting the attention of his focus.

  “They have progressed far, though it may not seem so from a distance.” The mercenary’s voice was laden with compassion. “Though they speak little, their comprehension grows steadily by the day. Jeffers believes that someday they will regain control of most of their faculties. With luck, they’ll one day return to what they once were.”

  Though in a sense comforting, the statement chilled Ryl to the core.

  Had they rescued the tributes from the facility, only to sentence them to a life of cognitive suffering? They had been comatose when they were removed from the slabs where they were drained of the blood, of the alexen in their veins.

  “Speak with them, Ryl,” Paasek intoned. “I understand the pity that I can see clearly written across your face. They are thankful. Although the circumstances are fuzzy, they are grateful for the freedom they now enjoy. Their activities are limited and certainly not without struggle, yet it is a freedom far beyond that which they would have dreamed possible. They recognize that their recovery will not be undertaken on their own.”

  As Ryl watched, several of the unawakened, the tributes, joined with the recovering. Sparks of life, remembrance, happiness graced their pale faces. These were friends who had shared similar struggles daily throughout their imprisonment within The Stocks.

  “Their signatures are still weak; only a hint of a glow pulses from them,” Ryl commented. “I see no sign of the stain of the nexela.”

  “Neither do I. Nor do the others with the vision to see, thankfully,” Paasek commented, though his tone softened as he continued. “I’ve come to understand some of the relationship between you and Elias. In him, the situation was different. Though the nexela had been disrupted by your hand, the taint still held. Though we maintain a watch over them, there is little to fear, as there is no evidence that they were ever forced to endure the nexela. They were milked to the brink of existence, yet the blackness that controlled your friend was never introduced.”

  Ryl forced a weak smile at the statement. The joy of saving his fellow tributes from the horrific fate of the processing facility was eclipsed by the crushing weight of the loss of Elias. The gambit of emotions had been thorough. He’d suffered through the swing from elation at their reunion to the devastation that the darkness that had corrupted his body was yet unmitigated. Though Elias in the end had likely saved them all, Kaep’s fate, her death, lay at his feet. He felt the chilling darkness, the dark whispers of death, stir within his left arm.

  A wave of compassion swelled over him as the morose thoughts threatened to blacken the light that had rejuvenated his body since returning to the woods. Ryl’s gaze shifted from the tree line to Paasek. The phrenic councilor remained still, his face locked into a curious expression at Ryl’s questioning glance. The emotion had not come from him. It had come from within.

  The lingering tendrils of energy rippled through his right arm. The leaves and vine surrounding the tattoo of the hand on his forearm shifted. Subtle, though the motion was unmistakable. He smiled as he realized the cause.

  “What of the others? What of the Lei Guard?” Ryl questioned, happy to change the subject, though the topic was just as disturbing.

  There was silence for a moment. Paasek glanced at Andr, each waiting for the other to reply.

  “There is no change in their state, I’m afraid,” Andr answered after a moment’s pause. “The modest chamber the Erlyn revealed is now a vast expanse. Multiple bodies swing from each of the trees. The blackness drips from their vines one sickening drop at a time, yet none have emerged from her care. She led me to the clearing; I could feel her hands, her words instructing me. Da’agryn confirmed that which I had seen, yet none have returned of their own volition from that space. The prophet has gone silent. The Erlyn cannot answer my questions as to what to do next.”

  The dejection in his voice was unmistakable. The mercenary had given all that he could to assist. Ryl had unwittingly forced a burden on him that was wholly unfair. Never before had a human controlled the inner workings of the ancient forest. With Ryl’s departure, he was but one of three remaining who could control the pathways through the woods.

  Ryl released a wave of comfort as he spoke to his friend.

  “You have consistently exceeded that which is required or asked of you, my friend,” Ryl noted. “Their hope for survival comes from your understanding of the will of the forest. Fear not, when their course has been completed, the woods will release them.”

  Andr seemed resigned to accept the words that poured from his lips. Ryl had no logical explanation for the statement. He searched the catalogue of information, the latent knowledge that flowed through his veins, yet little of substance was understood about the ancient, benevolent woods.

  “Thank you. All of you,” Ryl offered as he focused on the group surrounding him. “You’ve provided them with a chance far greater than they could have hoped for. None comprehend the power they have been granted. To them it was a curse. The blood that flows within their veins sentenced them to a life of suffering and pain. Who knows what horrors they’ve endured under the influence of the nexela.”

  Ryl paused for a moment as he pondered the reality of his own statement. To an extent, he understood the terror that was the nexela. It was the taint that lived within him. The darkened whisper that threatened to tear free, to drench itself in the blood of those who surrounded him at any moment.

  “I trust in the Erlyn.” Ryl’s voice was emphatic. “They will have a chance to live. To live a life free from the power of the alexen. Free from the scourge of the nexela. They will choose their own destiny. L
ive their lives how they see fit.”

  The tangent of their conversation was interrupted as Faya approached the group. Her gait was abnormal; gone were the skipping, youthful strides that were commonplace. She shuffled across the clearing with a disturbing wraithlike stride. Her normally playful face was strained, frozen, her lips locked into a chillingly impassive expression.

  It was her eyes, however, that gave Ryl pause. Gone was any trace of her pupil; instead they were filled with a shimmering blue. The color rippled across her wide eyes in undulating azure hues that seemed to radiate a dim glow.

  “A vision,” Paasek whispered as Faya pushed past. She walked oblivious to the others in her path. Her target was focused; her feet slid over the matted, short grass as if she hovered just above the surface of the ground.

  “The Erlyn calls to you, yet through the darkness you cannot hear.” Faya stopped a step before Ryl, her eyes traveled the length of his form, darkening for a moment as they settled on his left side.

  “You will not succeed. You will fail in this endeavor,” she whispered though her voice rumbled through Ryl with the force of distant thunder. The timbre of her childish voice was supplanted with the clamber of thousands of voices speaking in unison.

  Ryl dropped to a knee in front of Faya. Her eyes flashed brighter as they met his.

  “There is darkness. The shadow is thick, too solid for light to penetrate. I feel the woods cry in agony as trees and limbs fall to axes and flame.” Her words came in rapid spurts, like frantic descriptions of disjointed visions. “It will consume you, like it has consumed before. I see grief; death, cruel and unwavering, will come for life long overdue.”

  Faya looked over Ryl’s shoulder. As with her gazes earlier, she stared off into the distance as if focusing on someone standing a step behind him. Ryl’s eyes remained locked onto her, as he knew there was no one there.

  “Yet in it all, know you are not alone.” She flashed a momentary smile before her lips froze into their impassive line. “The Erlyn needs you.”

  Faya grabbed hold of Ryl’s right hand, squeezing his fingers, pulling him to his feet as she moved stealthily toward the woods. The strength of her grasp was startling.

  “What endeavor will I fail at, Faya?” Ryl quizzed as she walked forward. Her focus remained on the approaching tree line. “Where are you taking me?”

  She made no indication that she would respond.

  “Councilor Lenu, find her father. Find Rolan,” Ryl called over his shoulder. “Andr, Paasek, with me.”

  There was no hesitation to his commands. His companions moved hastily in response.

  Ryl kept his eyes on Faya as she walked. Her focus was pointed; her pace increased as she approached the edge of the clearing. The golden glow, the signature of the alexen that shined in his mindsight, was throbbing, pulsing with wave after wave of brighter glow.

  Faya maintained her pace as she reached the edge of the woods. Without so much as a blink of her eyes, the narrow entrance of a pathway opened before them. Ryl, walking side by side with the entranced youngster, squeezed between the two trees. Paasek and Andr were only a step behind. The muffled rustling of leaves noted the closing of the pathway behind him.

  The pathway that opened before them was long and straight. As expected, thick brambles, shrubs and branches blocked further view into the depths of the forest. The limbs arched over their heads, meeting to form an arboreal ceiling. Scattered patches of glowing moss cast their diffused light, illuminating the pathway before them.

  Ryl was startled by the emotion that pumped from the depths of the forest. There was a definite sensation of anxiety, though it failed to border on fear or worry. He longed to connect with the woods though he hesitated to break free from the viselike grip of the young seer at his side. He resolved himself to do so at the first available opportunity.

  As they progressed along the wooded trail, Ryl noted the familiarity of the track they walked. The surface of the ground was clean swept; no marks of any previous passage marred its floor. In the distance, a single pinpoint of yellow light flickered. The air carried heavy earthy tones, though it was flavored by a distinct note of smoke.

  Ryl understood in that instant where they were heading. This was the first path he’d followed through the Erlyn’s midst over a cycle earlier. He knew the destination that lay ahead: the cave that held the original answers.

  Would Da’agryn await him now?

  Chapter 16

  Faya increased her pace as she pulled Ryl along the pathway. Behind them, only the soft padding of footsteps told of Andr’s and Paasek’s presence. Their guide, having quickly made clear that conversation was not an option, had led them onward in silence.

  As the light of the fire grew, so did Ryl’s anticipation. There was a profound feeling of uncertainty as Faya’s less than hopeful vision tainted his perception. He was certain that their destination would provide answers. Perhaps a path forward, free of some of the lingering uneasiness.

  The pathway remained as unremarkable as he had recalled. It wasn’t long before he crossed the threshold of the earthen tunnel. Faya shifted a step ahead, yet she retained her grip on his hand. The dim glow from her eyes danced off the reflective surfaces of the walls, mixing with the sparkling reflections of the small fire in the distance.

  Memories, heavily laden with emotion, flashed unbeckoned into Ryl’s mind. He recalled his first adventure into the depths of the woods. Uncertainty mixed with an undeniable sense of dread. Though the potent emotion in the past had plagued his travels through the forest, this was different. It was a fear of the unknown.

  It had been curiosity and hope that had driven him forward when he’d first followed the arboreal path.

  At that moment, he was free.

  Though every step forward was unknown, for once there were no guards tracking his steps. None of the ever-present eyes of his captors were there to ensure his compliance.

  Ryl reached out his left hand, letting his fingers slide across the surface of the tunnel. The rocks were smooth to the touch though they were damp with a fine sheen of moisture. The roof of the enclosure was just low enough that he subconsciously ducked his head as he moved through. Faya stopped as she crossed over into the open chamber at the end. Her iron grip on Ryl’s hand released as she propelled him into the cave.

  The chamber was much the same as it always was. All the ancient pallet beds save one had the look of extreme age and disuse. The table and benches along the wall were covered with a fine layer of dust.

  Sitting perfectly still on the opposite side of the fire was a man, who by his own admission was known by many names.

  The prophet.

  Da’agryn.

  Taben. The defender.

  The ancient phrenic lifted his head as Ryl entered. Though his eyes were lost underneath the shadow of his cowl, a genuine smile curled his lips, tugging up on the wiry white beard that covered his face.

  “Thank you, young one, for bringing them here.” His voice was raspy and airy. Though lighter than Ryl recalled, it seemed to fill the chamber, echoing off the walls.

  Faya let out an awkward sigh as her body shivered. The swirling glow that had encompassed her eyes faded, leaving only the confused look of a child. She surveyed the room for an instant, the unfamiliarity striking a chilling chord upon her face. With a clumsy shuffle, she stumbled into Ryl, burying her head into the fold of his cloak.

  Before Ryl could respond, a thundering wave of emotion blanketed the room. The sensation of calm seemed to pour from the very walls that surrounded them. The tension in Faya’s body evaporated with its passing.

  “Welcome back, Ryl.” Da’agryn spoke after a moment. “Please sit. I’m afraid that as always there is much to discuss and precious little time to do so.”

  Ryl steered Faya with him to the benches bordering the small central campfire. He seated her, comforting the confused child before taking a place next to her on the stone bench. Andr and Paasek seated themselves to the left
of Ryl and Faya.

  “Word of your deeds has found its way to my ears, Ryl.” Da’agryn spoke. “I must admit that you’ve been the hope of many. I claim myself as one of those hopeful. For ages I’ve watched. For generations I’ve waited for you to come. You have been well worth the delay, my friend.”

  Internally, Ryl cringed at the attention that was lavished on him. Upon his deeds.

  “Thank you, Da’agryn,” Ryl replied. “If not for your assistance, for the assistance of the woods, I’d never have realized the strength or the resolve to walk the path I’ve been made to follow.”

  The ancient phrenic grunted as he poked at the small fire with a thin gnarled stick. A flurry of sparks broke from the glowing embers, sailing upward until they were lost in the cavern’s height.

  “There was no path for you to have walked, my friend.” The prophet grinned. “There was no single tangent for you to have followed. Not I, nor the woods, nor the silly prophecy from a time long past could have directed you to take the steps you have taken.”

  He rose to his feet more gingerly than Ryl had recalled. Now that he stood upright, the definite weathering of age clearly resounded in his features. His posture was slightly hunched; he teetered mildly on his feet.

  “The prophecy offered you a framework, nothing more,” Da’agryn illustrated. “The knowledge I was able to impart and the gifts the Erlyn bestowed were simply tools. They allowed you to view the world through a filter that few witness. Truth. We did not place your feet in front of the other. We did not drive you to carry on when the darkness was too deep to see. I take no credit for that. It was you, Ryl. That hope was your doing.”

  Ryl opened his mouth to retort, yet Da’agryn silenced him with a single motion of his hand. The elder phrenic’s gaze lowered; his eyes focused on the flickering flames of the fire before him.

  “Without hope, time loses meaning. Cycles pass and ages slip away.” His voice was distant. The light of the flames broke through the deep shadows of the hood that hid the upper portion of his face. Through the flicker of illumination, Ryl saw a brow furrowed by the pondering of time. His eyes were sunken and appeared worn.