Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2)

by C. J. Aaron

  He felt the presence of the figure that stood in the doorway before his eyes resolved on the image. The familiar comforting feeling that he’d only recently come to understand, thanks to the brief instruction from Da’agryn, flooded over the room. The gift of mindsight was unnecessary to confirm that person standing in the open door was a phrenic.

  The figure in the doorway surprised him. Though he had no expectations of who was approaching, he was thrown off by the youthful beauty of the woman who’d arrived. Time felt as if it had frozen momentarily. Her shoulder-length brown hair and cloak flared out to her side, a continuation of her rapid entry into the room. The loose fabric of her clothing pulled taut against her body, accentuating her athletic features. An exquisite set of tattoos covered the entirety of her right arm.

  The immaculately planned disorganization of designs that started at her shoulder gained form and focus as it flowed down her arm. Past her elbow the design rapidly coalesced into a series of lines that twisted around her forearm until they met in a single point above her palm. Where the swirling lines met, the tattoo seemed to explode outward in a circular scatter of leaves and vines that wrapped outward up her arm.

  Her almond-shaped eyes were a striking dark green. Ryl could clearly ready the worry written in their depths. The color gave him pause; they were the same green as the Erlyn. The sight triggered an unexpected feeling as memories of The Stocks and his fellow tributes flashed before his eyes.

  “Kaep, what’s wrong?” Andr quizzed.

  Ryl assumed Andr had seen the same look in her eye as he had.

  She paused before responding, and the world around her seemed to return to its normal speed. Her hair settled gently over her shoulders; her eyes brightened as she marked the surprised looks on both their faces.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” she said.

  Her melodious voice danced in his ears as her lips worked into a small smile. The sound of commotion rang from outside. The noise of multiple sets of footsteps approaching with haste rang through the air.

  “It's always a pleasure to see you,” Andr waxed sarcastically. “I called for the mender, not the troops. Mender Brasley threatened me on multiple occasions should I fail to fetch him if the boy wakes.”

  Ryl felt the swell of unbridled emotion from the approaching phrenics.

  “You can tell them to stand down,” Ryl interjected with a confident smile.

  Kaep tilted her head to the side, squinting her eyes. With a subtle nod of her head she took a step back, turning her head to the side without removing them from her sight.

  “Deyalou. Vox. All is well,” she ordered. “He’s awake. Tell the others to stand down.”

  It was a moment before Ryl heard the unseen pair outside the door retreat in the direction they'd come; their footsteps given away by their quiet padding on the floor of the hallway.

  The woman stepped confidently back into the room, approaching Ryl's bed, stopping a meter from he and Andr.

  “It was not your call that brought us running, mercenary,” she said.

  Ryl caught the hint of distrust that rang through her voice. Her inflection of the word mercenary was notably different. If Andr had picked up on the change he paid it no mind.

  “It was his,” she said.

  Her pointed stare moved off of Andr and her eyes locked onto Ryl’s as they met. He blinked to quickly break off the disorienting stare.

  “What call?” Ryl asked inquisitively. “I just woke a few moments ago.”

  Kaep regarded him curiously for a short time before opening her mouth to speak. She moved a step closer to the bed, kneeling down, bringing herself to eye level.

  “I'm sorry for the confusion, Ryl,” she apologized. He saw the realization dawn in her eyes as she stopped mid-sentence.

  “And I’m sorry for the delay in our introduction,” she said with a smile, holding out her hand. “My name’s Kaep.”

  He eagerly extended his hand, temporarily forgetting the pain that lingered throughout his body. The top of her hand was soft though her palm was rough with calluses. Her grip was like iron. An unexpected, tingling feeling began in his palm as his hand touched hers. Ryl broke off the handshake, flexing his hand repeatedly. The tingling diminished rapidly. Had the sickness caused more havoc in his body than he’d expected? The squeeze of her hand on his had imparted the sensation of his hand being asleep, yet somehow the pins and needles were energizing. He thought he registered a hint of confusion flash across her face.

  “I forget that you have yet to be awakened to the true power that flows through your veins,” Kaep intoned. “You called to us a moment ago. It felt desperate, pleading, agonizing. All came as soon as we heard it. As soon as we felt it.”

  It was now Ryl's turn to be confused. He regarded the woman kneeling beside him with a perplexed look.

  “I'm afraid it will be a hard lesson for all of us to learn, but a lesson we will learn together,” Kaep commiserated. “Your journey to find the phrenics is complete. Your true adventure begins now.”

  Chapter 25

  The gravity of her statement had yet to sink in when the ponderous quiet of the small room was abruptly interrupted by the strident entrance of a jovial man. Close at his heels followed a second younger individual. The telltale white robes and apron tied around his ample waist easily identified the man’s station. He was a mender. Both he and the other who’d arrived in his wake were panting heavily as they struggled to catch their breath.

  “I see our young friend is finally awake,” the mender wheezed between gasps. “By the way you scared young Ticco here and the pace at which the phrenic raced through the city, I’d thought the situation was far more dire.”

  Andr chuckled quietly under his breath, earning a stern glare from the mender.

  The mender was a large man; his loose-fitting clothing did little to hide the bulge of his stomach that carried on down throughout his legs. He appeared to be in his middle cycles, yet his jovial face still maintained a look of youthful curiosity. His close-cropped hair revealed a large thinning patch on the peak of his head.

  “If there’s nothing more, I’d like to tend to my patient now,” the mender lectured Andr.

  Moments crept by as neither Andr nor the mender moved a muscle. The pair were seemingly locked in a struggle of wills. The mender opened his mouth, most likely to repeat his command, but Andr interrupted him before the words could form.

  “I appreciate your concern and for the care you’ve provided our young friend,” Andr emphasized softly. “Ryl is still my responsibility. He’s been unconscious the better part of a week, most which I’ve spent here as well.”

  Andr folded his arms defiantly across his chest.

  “I stay,” he stated in a voice that offered no question.

  The loose cheeks on the mender’s face reddened several shades as he glared at the mercenary. He inhaled sharply, holding in the breath; his already rotund frame growing larger. He exhaled noisily … and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “Very well. Stay if you must,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Please do stay out of the way. I’m guessing the boy still needs his rest.”

  Andr stepped to the foot of the bed allaying the mender with a smile and an overly dramatic bow before seating himself on the couch. The maneuver elicited a muted snort of a laugh from Kaep.

  “I’ll go inform the council of his condition,” Kaep said as she cleared her throat.

  Ryl watched as the judgmental gaze of the mender swung from his friend to Kaep.

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort until I say he’s ready. The young man is still under my care,” the mender snapped. “Do kindly inform the council he is awake, but is not yet ready for their interrogation or instruction. His body still needs rest, needs time to recover. It's a miracle he's in the condition he’s in, I'll not have him bored to death by their long-winded overtures.”

  Kaep afforded the Mender with a glare sharp enough to cut stone. From his relaxed position on t
he couch by the foot of Ryl's bed, Andr made no attempt to hide his bemused grin.

  “I'll have you know; it is by the will of the council we remain and have remained unmolested for so many cycles,” Kaep hissed.

  Ryl felt the wave of an anger flow from her body. The mender calmly held out his hand, taking a step toward the fuming phrenic.

  “Yes, yes, yes, my dear Kaep,” the mender interrupted, his voice now calm and compassionate. “I trust and respect the judgement like the rest do. Unlike you, I am bound to time by a much shorter chain. When you get to be my age, you’ll understand there is a certain beauty in not rushing into that which is to be, anyway. Health and recovery are two things that should never be treated hastily.”

  Ryl watched as her head slumped, followed by her shoulders. The fight seemed to leak out of her with the realization of her undue accusation. The look of utter defeat pained Ryl in a way he could not understand. Straining to focus, he concentrated on sending out the feelings of forgiveness and understanding.

  The effort took a far greater toll than he’d expected. Ryl again collapsed back down into his bed. His body felt like it was sinking through the soft mattress, and his vision faded as his eyes momentarily rolled back into his head.

  The mender placed his hands gently on her shoulders, speaking in a soft voice that broached no animosity.

  “You are still young, Kaep,” the mender said. “You’ve been full of fight since the day I helped bring you into this world.”

  Ryl’s eyes worked to focus on the pair. Her eyes were fixated beyond the mender that stood in front of her—locked onto his own. A look of profound understanding sparkled from inside their depths. She spoke to the mender though her eyes remained firmly trained on him.

  “I’ll deliver the message, Mender Brasley,” Kaep whispered. “I’ll see they understand.”

  She hesitated as she backed away, her vision trained on Ryl until she reached the door. Kaep’s gaze jumped back to the mender, giving a short bow before retreating from the room.

  The mender’s head turned slightly as he tracked her soft footsteps in the hall until they disappeared out of the building. He shook his head as he inhaled a deep breath, letting out a substantial sigh of relief.

  “Ticco,” the mender barked his order to the young man standing by the door.

  The young man had remained motionless throughout the entirety of the conversations, first with Andr and then Kaep. His wide eyes blinked, his first sign of movement, as if he'd been too frightened to stir for fear of being discovered.

  “I need you to go find Saldaria," he instructed patiently. “I need a petal from the rose. Please don't forget the plugs of cotton for your nose this time. I needn’t remind you that the smell is potent.”

  Ticco nodded his head rapidly as he made for the door.

  “Do hurry,” Brasley intoned. “I’m sure our friend here would appreciate his remedy soon.”

  With a mumble the young man was off, seemingly all too happy to leave the tension of the room, despite the unpleasant task at hand.

  “I should thank you, mercenary,” the mender said with a chuckle. “If not for the commotion you raised, it'd be me transporting that vile smelling petal across Vim.”

  Andr grunted in response. The mender turned to Ryl, rubbing his hands together idly as he approached. He fidgeted as if his fingers were unsure of what to do without the tools of his craft in their grip.

  Ryl's head still spun from the flurry of the recent activity. Even the miniscule amount of energy he’d used to comfort Kaep was draining. The mender leaned over him, placing his warm hand on his forehead.

  “How are you feeling, my boy?” he asked patiently.

  “Dizzy still, sir,” Ryl admitted.

  “There's no need to call me sir, Brasley will do just fine,” the mender said, as his mouth made a show of making a slight frown; an emotion that never reached his eyes.

  “The resiliency of your phrenic bodies never ceases to amaze me,” Brasley continued. “That toxin they've been forcing into you is especially diabolic. The poison, introduced consistently and at such a high level, would have likely killed those without the alexen in their blood. If the drug had not, the effects of the withdrawal most certainly would have.”

  Ryl struggled to work himself into a sitting position. The careful hands of the mender gently assisted him up, propping a pillow behind him as he leaned against the stone wall of the room.

  “I assure you Brasley, the effects of the drug will have scarred a lasting mark on my mind. One I'll happily not repeat,” Ryl shuttered at the thought.

  The extreme dizziness, uncontrollable fevers, weeping rash and vivid hallucinations that had wreaked havoc on his body and mind had been terrifying.

  “I make no claims of comprehending the pain you went through, and by no means am I attempting to discredit your struggle, Ryl,” Brasley apologized. “I only meant it to serve as a credit to the resilience of the power you have flowing through your veins and the strength of will you possess.”

  The mender reached out a finger, tapping Ryl gently on the forehead with the statement.

  “I must ask you something though. An inconsistency that has come to light in the only version of your stories we've heard to this point,” Brasley said inquisitively. “Your companion mentioned that you could see the Horde with your mind, using the phrenic mindsight as they call it. Were you able to see the others, the tributes imprisoned with you as well?”

  The mender studied Ryl with a look of academic curiosity, waiting patiently for him to respond.

  “Yes,” Ryl admitted. “I could see them at a range of almost two hundred meters.”

  Brasley’s jaw dropped, and his eyes grew wide.

  “Impossible,” he gaped. “The poison is meant to act as a blocking agent. It prevents the body from accessing the inherent skills all those gifted with the alexen possess.”

  Ryl paused for a moment before responding. Though he’d never heard the statement before, it made perfect sense. Was the poison the cause of the block he felt when trying to access his skills?

  “Impossible as it may seem,” Ryl stated defensively. “It is the truth, nonetheless.”

  The hasty entrance of the mender’s apprentice interrupted their conversation. He was red faced, panting heavily, with a strip of wadded up fabric stuffed into each nostril. He slid to a stop on the smooth, natural rock tiled floor; the waft of odor from the carefully wrapped package in his hand continued inward in his wake. The room filled with a sickening smell of death and decay.

  “Dear boy,” Mender Brasley barked at his apprentice. “Get that rotted leaf out of this room. Bring it to the stove in the kitchen. Fetch water and start the fire. I’ll be along shortly.”

  Ticco fled from the room as quickly as he had arrived, the stench of the flower’s petals lingering long after his departure.

  “The blighted rose, I assume?” Ryl asked. “I thought those only grew across the sea. How did one come to this land?”

  “Ah, very wise. It was at a very high cost, I'm afraid,” the mender acknowledged woefully, pausing for a moment in thought before carrying on. “We've been lucky enough to maintain at least a single phrenic with a certain gift for horticultural wonders. We'd never have survived here without their assistance throughout the cycles.”

  The mender’s nose wrinkled as an especially potent tendril of the horrid smelling petal assailed him. He waved his hand in the air before his face, attempting to waft the smell away.

  “That bloody flower has proven quite the difficult one to rein in,” Brasley continued. “Notwithstanding the odor, that plant itself has a voracious appetite. It took some time to figure out the right balance to keep it alive. If you'll excuse me, I'll get to making another batch of your remedy. We'll have that poison flushed from you once and for all before long.”

  With a nod, the portly mender turned and hurried from the room, closing the door behind him. His muffled voice floated back through its cracks as he bel
lowed commands at his hapless apprentice.

  Ryl closed his eyes, resting his head against the cool stone of the wall behind him. He focused his mindsight searching for signs of other phrenics. His heart surged as he noted the telltale signs of multiple orbs of light moving throughout his vision. The fatigue that tore through his body was intense, and his vision blurred before he could count them.

  Ryl snapped his eyes open, regretting the decision immediately. The use of even the most mundane of his skills required considerable concentration and sapped substantial strength from his failing reserves. He squeezed his eyes shut again, waiting until the dizziness and nausea had passed. He hesitated to attempt any of his other skills for fear of the damage they could cause.

  It was some time before he opened his eyes again, and when he did it was with slow, cautious movement. He studied the room for a few moments, noting for the first time the immaculate details in the furniture’s craftsmanship.

  A small lantern hung from an impressively carved sconce to the side of the door. The lantern itself was a work of art, its details rivaling even the most decorative of pieces he’d viewed on Lord Eligar’s ill-fated frigate.

  The legs of the table standing to the side of his bed were carved into lifelike images of tall slender trees. Ryl could clearly make out the fine details of the bark in the dim light of the room. Everywhere he looked, the exquisite features jumped out at him, made more incredible by the average medium they were applied to. He guessed that pieces of this quality carved into gold or silver would fetch a king's ransom.

  His brief visual survey of the room stopped when it reached Andr. The mercenary was watching him, an indistinguishable gaze written across his face.

  “Andr, do you know how many phrenics reside here?” Ryl asked curiously.

  “Unfortunately, information is not something that has been shared freely,” Andr mumbled as he cleared his throat. “The few I’ve talked to seem hesitant to divulge any details. They’ve made it clear that they have a hard time trusting someone whose alliances have seemingly switched so frequently. First a mercenary, then a guard, then a personal retainer to a tribute’s sponsor, it’s a hard combination for them to comprehend.”