by C. J. Aaron
“The name, Da’agryn?” Irie questioned, cutting short Paasek’s ruminations. “That is a name we have not heard before. What can you tell us about this Da’agryn?”
“He was a phrenic—” Ryl began, only to be interrupted as Paasek leapt from his chair, the wooden legs scraping loudly as they slid back across the floor.
“—Impossible!” Paasek gasped. “The only true phrenics that survive remain in Vim.”
“Unbelievable, yes. But impossible? No.” Ryl said politely. “The Erlyn led me to him in a cave hidden deep within the woods. Our meeting was brief, yet the information he passed on was monumental. Before meeting him, I’d never heard the word phrenic. He spoke of a history erased from record. He instructed me in the ways of communicating with the forest, ways to practice the phrenic mindsight and to practice another skill he possessed. The soulborne wind.”
Paasek’s eyes bulged wider at the mention of the soulborne wind. He sank back into his chair in disbelief.
“That is a skill that has scarcely been seen throughout the ages,” he whispered. “Did he tell you anything else?”
“He claimed he’d been called many names across the ages,” Ryl continued as he thought back to their brief meeting. “Said he was more a part of the forest now than anything, nothing more than a voice and feeling elsewhere. He convinced me not to give up hope. A hope I hate to admit was faltering.”
Ryl paused before continuing, replaying every moment of their brief meeting in his mind.
“Somehow, he knew I’d be rescued after my Harvest,” Ryl breathed. “He believed that I would be the catalyst. That I would be the one to herald the changes that had been prophesied. He told me to look to the mountains, for I’d find my answers there. He said there was much to be done before my Harvest and vanished with the wind.”
The silence that fell over the room was deafening. Ryl could hear nothing over it as the moments stretched on. The councilors again exchanged wide eyed glances.
“Could it be him?” Heild asked.
“The prophet,” Oswill added in awe.
Paasek nodded his head in wonder.
“The prophet?” Ryl asked curiously.
“Once every hundred cycles since our founders fled here, we have been visited by one whom we call the prophet,” Irie instructed. “He is a man, for that is the best way we can describe him, yet he is nothing more than a specter. His glowing green body is translucent, though his features are remarkably defined. He wears the cloak of a phrenic, the hood always drawn low. None have seen his face.”
Ryl was immediately struck by the similarities in the description of the glowing specter of the prophet to the figure of Caprien he'd encountered in the Erlyn.
“Were these woods once connected to the Erlyn?” Ryl asked curiously.
“Yes, they once were,” Irie answered. “The woods that run along the length of the mountains were all once a part of the Erlyn’s domain. With the construction of what you call the western palisade her power and sway over the forest was severed. Yet, there are still pockets where her power lingers, though they are few. There is one within reach of Vim, where her remaining strength is the most potent. It is to here the prophet comes. The phrenic can feel his arrival.”
“Can I see this prophet?” Ryl asked.
The councilors again exchanged glances, all nodding their heads subtly.
“Yes, that can be arranged,” Irie acknowledged with a smile. “However, there are things you must understand, things that must be done first.”
Ryl eyed them with a hint of suspicion.
“As of this point, your arrival here at Vim has not been a closely guarded secret,” Irie stood as she spoke, continuing while pacing behind the other councilors. “All know of your arrival. As you might expect, visitors here are a thing of legend. Among us, there isn’t a soul who has ever met an outsider in the entirety of their lives. All are curious to hear from the Council.”
“When we were a fledgling civilization, every birth was rewarded with a celebration, as it signaled the hope for our future. Our survival,” Irie elaborated. “We have thankfully reached numbers where our continuance does not hang so much in the balance. There are over sixteen thousand souls now living within the safety of this mountain. Births are still celebrated, yet on a private level.”
Irie paused her pacing behind Paasek. She rested a hand on his rigid shoulder.
“The awakening or discovery of a phrenic is always a cause for celebration,” Paasek intoned.
Ryl could hold his curiosity back no longer.
“How many phrenics live within the city?” he blurted out, interrupting the councilwoman. Irie smiled at the outburst, responding with patience.
“There are fifteen phrenics in Vim,” Councilor Paasek answered for her. “All are awakened.”
“While all know of your arrival, none but the phrenics and a select few others know of the gift that flows within your veins,” Irie said. “It was more than coincidence that led us to you on the verge of the forest. The prophet forewarned of your arrival. Though you were nearly a cycle earlier than we expected.”
“My Harvest was a cycle early,” Ryl stuttered. “After an injury that nearly took my life, my sponsor caused enough of a commotion to grant the testing of all tributes in The Stocks. Mine was the only level outside of the norm, warranting my early Harvest—”
“—I understand the testing process and the behavior of alexen,” it was Mender Brasley's turn to interrupt the conversation. “Alexen follows a finite path to saturation.”
“I will not argue with your knowledge, Mender,” Ryl admitted. “Yet I understand that logic only applies when the alexen is passive.”
The Mender and Paasek sucked in a breath as they anticipated the next statement.
“Mine is active,” Ryl announced confidently.
“Full of surprises, I see,” Paasek commented with a laugh. “No active alexen has been seen since Taben.”
“He will be yours to train soon enough, Paasek,” Councilwoman Lenu, who had been quiet up to that point chimed in.
“His training will be short I fear,” Paasek said. “Once he's awakened, the knowledge inherent in the blood will be at his command. What would be a lifelong study to you will be more akin to a refresher to him.”
“That may be so, but he and Andr will still need to be instructed as all are in Vim,” Irie declared, focusing her attention on the councilors before returning her gaze to Ryl and Andr.
“Ryl, can you read and write?” she asked sympathetically.
“Yes, I can. It pains me to admit, that my skills will be lacking,” Ryl said, his face red with embarrassment. “Reading and writing were never part of our assigned tasks, nor did we have books to read or the time to study them.”
“You will have ample time to practice that skill here. Any assistance you require will be at your disposal if you run into any difficulties,” Irie said with a touch of motherly care in her voice.
“All who live in Vim are required to be proficient in both scholarly and martial skills,” Irie continued. “Every man, woman and youth are schooled in blade, bow and basic hand-to-hand fighting in addition to their intellectual curriculum.”
Irie stopped her tale as she gestured with her hand to Councilor Oswill. The councilor cleared his throat before speaking.
“A major component of the education is to learn the history of our world,” Oswill explained. “You will learn of our past, our flight from slavery in The Stocks, our trials here, our failures and our achievements. Before completing their schooling, every student must also copy a version of the great tome that contains the history that Damaris has sought to scrub from record. It may sound like a simple task, but I assure you the history is rather lengthy.”
Oswill chuckled at his own feeble attempt at humor before carrying on.
“We will not make the same mistakes that Damaris has,” Oswill continued, his voice rising in pitch as his anger swelled. “After the fall of the Phrenic, ed
ucation and literacy were stifled. With the burning of the great libraries and the purging of historical record, intellectual progress was stymied.”
The councilor leaned backward, rubbing his hand over the stubble that had grown on his chin.
“The Phrenic pursued knowledge and mastery of the arts and in turn gifted their findings to the world,” Oswill narrated. “They shared their findings freely. In their absence, they left behind a society that knows little more than what is required to complete their tasks at hand. They are unknowing slaves to the kingdom they were born into and will die serving.”
He sat forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on the table before him.
“Education and the eternal quest for knowledge doesn't stop there,” Oswill continued. “All here continue learning, each and every citizen in Vim apprentices with a skilled laborer or artisan. We have raised a society that can defend themselves and the history and culture they keep. One day we will be like the phrenics of old, spreading the wealth of information back to a kingdom that craves the knowledge.”
Councilwoman Lenu rose from her chair, bristling from the statement. Without a moment's notice, the tension in the room grew thick, suffocating the air of civility that had blanketed the room to this point.
“You'd have us march back into slavery,” Lenu growled. “Those who have milked the tributes for the power in their veins covet their unnaturally long lives. They will not abandon their gifts of power and the superiority they possess. They will fight us with numbers and resources we cannot match.”
“That is enough,” Irie interrupted, her voice pleasant yet held a resolute firmness. “This is a discussion for another day.”
Ryl felt a wave of calm crash over him, diffusing the tension that had threatened to overwhelm them all. He met eyes with Paasek, who winked in reply. Councilwoman Lenu sank back into her seat, for the moment the fight in her seemingly dissolved.
“As you can see, our community, though it stands as an oasis in the Outlands, idyllic as it is, is not without controversy,” Irie said. “Where there are opinions there will always be disagreements. It is the way of the world. Disagreements when viewed from a place of mutual respect, understanding and empathy can create the wonders you see today. We have not always seen eye to eye, but have agreed for the betterment of our community.”
Lenu and the other councilors nodded their head in silent agreement at the statement.
“Over the last decade, there has been a growing sentiment that our time to re-enter Damaris has arrived,” Irie said as bluntly as possible. “It is a debate we oft hold, though not one with which you need to worry at the moment.”
Ryl grasped at the precarious position the council was in regarding the matter. As for him, his mind was made up; the task ahead of him transparent.
The system of tributes must end, though he had no desire for war. The resolute determination was not a rampant bloodlust on his part. In fact, his true feelings were the opposite. If there was a way to accomplish his goal without bloodshed, he would see to it.
Whether peacefully or at the tip of a sword, The Stocks would fall.
The tributes would be set free.
Ryl could feel his blood heating as he thought of the friends, the family he'd left behind. The loved ones who still languished inside The Stocks.
“The council will announce the true nature of your arrival tomorrow evening,” Irie continued motioning to he and Andr. Her statement broke his train of thought, and his blood cooled rapidly.
“Your training and education will commence as soon as you are hale and the mender clears you for training,” Irie informed them. “You may remain in your current apartment until you are back on your feet and revealed to all of Vim. At that point, you will move into one of the suites inside the Hall of the Phrenic.”
“And what of Andr?” Ryl asked the Council. “Where is he to go? Could he remain with me?”
Ryl blurted out the thoughts without thinking. In truth he'd never fully weighed the true value of their friendship in his mind. He looked at Andr as a friend, but more so as a fatherly figure, unconsciously filling the void left after his biological family abandoned him. Andr regarded him with a bemused stare. The corner of his lip pulled up into a barely perceptible smile before fading back into its rigid norm.
“The vast majority of those in Vim reside in homes within the mountain,” Irie explained. “However, if that is your desire, space can be made. Your suite has a second room, and the hall is nowhere near capacity.”
“Thank you,” Ryl said. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face.
Irie leaned back in her chair. For a brief moment, her rigid, formal posture broke as if she could no longer bear the weight of the world pressing down upon her.
“You are both a welcome addition to the city,” she continued. “Andr, I'm sure you will find work among the Vigil if you so choose.”
Andr nodded his head in reply.
“Ryl, to have another phrenic within our midst, even if you weren't born here is a blessing,” Irie admitted, yet her tone was woeful. “Even as skilled as you are, I’m afraid that the phrenics today are a far cry away from the phrenics of old. So much was lost during the Barren.”
Ryl squinted his eyes slightly, leaning forward in his chair.
“The Barren?” he questioned.
“It is the name we give to the darkest era in our civilization’s history,” Paasek answered somberly. “Nearly three hundred cycles ago, there was a time when the phrenics ceased to exist.”
Ryl was astonished by the statement. What had befallen the phrenic?
“Our lives may be long, our bodies may be more suited to fighting infection and destroying disease, yet we are not immune,” Paasek continued. “Gresh was the last surviving phrenic, the last link to the collective information that flowed through his veins. A great piece of the past died with him. His death was sudden and of natural causes and as such he passed without a transference.”
“Do you mean a transference of power?” Ryl quizzed.
“That is correct, Ryl, though I'm surprised that you've heard the name,” Paasek answered.
To the confused looks of all gathered at the table, Ryl rose purposefully to his feet, pushing his chair out behind him. He grabbed his shirt from the bottom, lifting it up to reveal the tattooed hand over his left breast.
Chapter 29
There was a collective gasp from the councilors seated across the table. The smile on Paasek’s face grew exponentially. Councilor Heild jumped to his feet with an unexpected force that toppled his chair, sending it spilling across the floor. He raced around the table toward Ryl without a word. Ryl shrunk back as the seemingly crazed man approached.
Paasek cleared his throat, announcing in his clear loud voice.
“Councilor Heild, perhaps you should ask our young friend before you scare him further,” the phrenic councilor announced. The approaching man stopped in his tracks as if his actions to this point had been entirely out of his control. His face flushed red; his head looked down to the ground.
“My apologies, Ryl,” Heild intoned. “In my lifetime, I’ve never seen a transference of power in person, in fact none of us have. I am an artist. The quality of the design is astounding. May I look?”
Ryl nodded his head hesitantly. The councilor approached leaning his face close to appraise the tattoo with discriminating eyes. The intense scrutiny was uncomfortable. Heild whistled, mumbling to himself as he twisted his head from side to side, studying the mark from every angle. Ryl caught the eyes of Kaep as his disquieted gaze traveled the room. He stifled a laugh at her valiant attempt to disguise her amusement.
“Ryl, you continue to prove you are a young man of many surprises,” Paasek broke the silence. “If councilor Heild has concluded his examination, I’m sure I speak for all here when I say I’d be very interested to hear the story behind this mark.”
Councilor Heild giggled to himself as he retreated his way back around the tab
le. He retrieved his toppled chair, resuming his place at the table. To his side, Councilor Oswill shook his head discouragingly.
Once order was restored in the small room, Ryl forged straight into the tale of his encounter within the Erlyn Woods. Without exception, all sat on the edge of their seats listening intently to the unbelievable tale that Ryl relayed. He told of his meeting with the Caprien; the lone phrenic that remained tied to the forest. He described in detail that battle he waged in the body of the phrenic and the agonizing death at the hands of the Outland Horde.
When his story concluded, it was Paasek who broke the silence.
“That in part explains the innate fighting ability,” the phrenic councilor commented. “If what you say is true, and I’m inclined to believe it, you may hold the key inside your blood to knowledge that has been lost for centuries. I pray for your speedy recovery and will await your training as patiently as I can.”
Ryl scanned the faces of the assembled councilors. All viewed him with a discomforting level of awe and reverence. Ryl stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. His eyes felt heavy, his body drained. He longed for a bed and a peaceful rest. The sickness had sapped him of far too much strength. The observant mender was next to reply.
“If there is no more that needs to be discussed this evening, I’d think it’d be in this young man’s best interest to rest,” Mender Brasley intoned. “His road to recovery is still considerable. I fear we’re taxing him too much.”
The councilors looked between themselves. None spoke up with any objection.
“The Council agrees with you, Mender Brasley,” Councilwoman Irie replied in her official voice. “We have much to discuss and much planning to do before we can reveal the newest members of Vim. Will two days be sufficient?”
“That is a question for Ryl,” the mender retorted carefully. “Though I feel it will be enough time. The ceremony should be quick, and I will strongly advise him to refrain from the revelries that are sure to follow. I understand that his presence will undoubtedly be required for some time though.”