Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2)

by C. J. Aaron

  “What say you, Ryl?” Irie inquired. “Are you ready to formally take your place among the Phrenic of Vim?”

  Ryl paused for a moment of thought before responding. For the first time in over half his young life, he was free. He now had some place he could call home.

  “It would be my honor to take my place among the Phrenic of Vim,” he responded proudly.

  “Then it will be so,” Irie commanded. “And Andr, while we are all proficient in weapons to varying degrees, I fear that we lack true adversarial experience. We would do well to have the tutelage of a seasoned warrior, one who is more keenly aware of the intricacies of battle.”

  “My experience is at your disposal,” Andr acknowledged with a nod of his head.

  “Then it is settled,” Irie announced, punctuating the statement with a clap of her hands.

  The councilors rose in rapid order, and Ryl and Andr stood in turn. The informal greetings and conversations that followed were blissfully short as sleep tugged on him with renewed effort. Plans were to be made for their public introduction on the day after next. Until then, Ryl was to focus on his recovery.

  The walk back to the private apartment he’d called home was long. His energy faded with startling speed. Andr and Brasley had propped him up from either side as they shuffled along the avenue. Kaep, who’d continued to accompany them, bid them farewell, disappearing into the Hall of the Phrenic.

  After the grueling walk, Ryl was all too content to slip into the comfort of the bed, foregoing any conversation upon returning to the room.

  Sleep was immediate.

  Ryl woke to the sounds of hushed conversation from the hall. He rose slowly, stretching out his arms and back before swinging his feet over the edge of the bed. Mender Brasley broke off from his conversation and poked his head in through the door.

  “Ah, Ryl, you’re awake,” Brasley said with a smile. “I didn’t know if you’d be joining us today. It’s already well into the afternoon.”

  Ryl suppressed an uncontrollable yawn. In the entirety of his life, he doubted he’d slept as long as he had the previous night. He mentally berated himself for having overexerted himself to such a degree. He swore to take better care not to over tax his recovering body.

  “You’re late for your remedy,” Mender Brasley chided. “Ticco, please go heat it up.”

  Ryl heard the hurried footsteps of the apprentice shuffle down the hall.

  “Where is Andr?” Ryl asked the mender.

  “Your friend had visitors this morning while you slumbered,” Brasley continued as he moved across Ryl’s room, throwing the curtains open with a startling burst of light. “Councilor Lenu came to introduce him to the captain of the Vigil. Seems she wastes no time putting an asset to use. We have thankfully never had to face a foe in open combat. She fears we grow lax.”

  Ryl’s eyes noted the large pile of books and paper on the small desk along the side of the room. Brasley followed his gaze.

  “Seems you had a visitor while you slumbered,” the mender chuckled. “It appears Councilor Oswill feels you’ve been lax in your studies as well.”

  Ryl shuffled across the room to where the pile rested on the small table. He lifted the first book, Forgotten History of Damaris Volume 1, The Founding of Vim, surprised by its size and weight. The dismay must have been evident across his face as the mender snorted a laugh.

  “I remember feeling the same as you, Ryl,” Brasley lamented. “Fear not, you’ll find it is more enjoyable than it appears.”

  Ryl doubted that would be true though he smiled at the mender’s attempt, nonetheless. Ticco entered the room, both hands dutifully fixed on the saucer, careful not to spill a drop of the vile-smelling remedy. The potent aroma followed in his wake, stifling the air in the small room. He placed the saucer on the table by the head of Ryl’s bed before hastening from the room. Ryl watched him choke back a wave of nausea as he fled.

  “How much longer must I endure this punishment?” Ryl asked sarcastically.

  “You jest, yet it’s undoubtedly the remedy that has hastened the speed of your recovery,” the mender stated. “With that being said, the rate of your rehabilitation has been astonishingly rapid. I think another dose tonight will suffice. You should find your strength will recover with haste once the entirety of the toxin has been purged.”

  “I’ll be happy to be done with it, though it’s nowhere near as vile as the treatments were,” Ryl admitted.

  He couldn’t help wrinkling his nose in disgust at even the mention of the putrid treatments. Without another word, Ryl lifted the delicate saucer, downing the remedy in one gulp. The pleasant warmth of the liquid sliding down his throat was far overpowered by the nauseating flavor.

  “Now that your treatment is done, let’s get you some fresh air and sunshine,” Mender Brasley declared. “I’ll bring the first of your reading. I’ve had a small table set up out front, you can relax there.”

  Ryl agreed with the mender. A relief from the stench of the interior would be a pleasant respite. Fearful of the added toll of using his skills, and forced to remain resting, his mind would be starving for activity. The reading would serve as a welcome distraction.

  After situating Ryl at the table that he’d set up outside of the small residence, Mender Brasley bid him farewell. The mender, with his apprentice in tow, hurried off to attend to his other duties around Vim.

  Ryl was left with a moment to consider the events of the last evening. He and Andr were being welcomed openly into the city of Vim. They had asked if he was ready to formally accept his citizenship.

  He would have a place to call home.

  He would be accepted for who he was, not defined by the unseen compound in his blood. He would be forever removed from the hatred and struggles of the kingdom that demanded his slavery.

  The news should have been uplifting, yet inside him there was a lingering regret. While he was now safe within the hidden city of Vim, in Damaris the tributes remained enslaved. Though he may call Vim his home at the moment, his place in the world was not secreted away behind the seclusion of her walls. Ryl had made a promise he would not soon abandon.

  The tributes would be free.

  The resolve stoked the fire that burned within his blood. He could feel the press of the power that still yearned to be unleashed. His determination was as steadfast as the walls that protected the city from the outside world.

  He would see them free.

  Heeding the mender’s words, and in need of distraction, Ryl plunged into the task at hand. The thick leather binding creaked as it opened. His skill as a reader was immediately put to the test, yet he forged forward, absorbing every ounce of knowledge.

  The Founding of Vim began in an area that Ryl knew all too well. The original twelve phrenics had been laboring together, members of the construction detail assigned to the building of the western palisade, when an opportunity had presented itself that could not be denied. A thin strip of land had been razed through the Erlyn: a wide trench was quickly dug, severing the roots that passed beneath the ground. Stone was hastily laid to stem the perpetual advance of the forest.

  A group of twelve phrenics set out from their small work camp of Westwall that morning. With the exception of one, all the phrenics were scholars; brilliantly gifted sculptors, artists and academic leaders. The remaining member of their group was a woman named Aily, an elementalist with a specialty working with stone.

  The original treatments forced upon the newly incarcerated phrenics were different from the doses provided in Ryl's time. In the early cycles, the effects were dramatically more potent and the results more catastrophic. Whereas the treatment today prevented the tributes from accessing their inherent power by overloading the ability of their system to fight the invading toxin, the treatments of old had the ability to virtually wipe the mind of all self-control. This frequently left the phrenics as nothing more than mindless shells, living only to do the bidding of their masters.

  As a result of t
he simple oversight of an inattentive mender, several doses of the treatment were missed. The potent, chemical block to the phrenic’s abilities was allowed to lapse in these individuals. The effects were disastrous. The fortuitous oversight allowed for a fully cognizant phrenic to be working with a group of her peers that fateful morning.

  A volatile mix.

  Within the burned-out rift in the Erlyn, the guards flanked the edges of the forest, preventing even the pacified phrenic from connecting with the woods. All had heard the tales of Taben and his army. The guards feared the repercussions should any escape into the shadows in the midst of the trees.

  Work had started that morning as had the previous day. The ill-fated guards who'd drawn the assignment on that stretch of the western palisade never stood a chance.

  The foundation of the palisade was well underway. Large stone slabs had been sunk deep into the earth, severing the living forest in two. These thick stones, in the hands of a fully capable phrenic elementalist became weapons of devastating power.

  When the dust had settled, two full companies of guards had perished beneath the stone. The twelve phrenic had laid waste to any who stood in their path. The peaceful intellectuals showed no remorse. Before the swarms of reinforcements arrived, just over one hundred phrenics had been freed, disappearing into the woods to the west without a trace.

  The exploits that day along with their history had been neatly removed from the known history of an entire kingdom. The legend of Taben and his warriors was allowed to persist as nothing more than exaggerated myth.

  The group forged westward; living off the bounty of the forest for three moons. Never straying from the confines of the trees, they were unmolested in their travels. Early one morning, the woods deposited them into a large clearing along the face of the cliff. There in the mountain’s wall, a small crevice split the rock. The path into the interior was jagged, full of twists and turns yet led the road-weary phrenics into the valley from which Vim was carved.

  Their history was fascinating. The founders, as they became known, had started with nothing, yet they began the groundwork for the wonders that surrounded him today. Ryl scanned the city of Vim that spread out before him with a new appreciation for the resiliency and planning of its phrenic originators.

  His eyes stopped as they completed their arc of the city. Standing motionless in the avenue only a few meters away stood Kaep, with three other phrenics a step behind. Ryl felt the embarrassment; his cheeks heated as they reddened. How long had they been standing there?

  Ryl closed the book abruptly, easing to his feet.

  “I'm sorry, I didn't notice you there,” he admitted.

  “I see Oswill wasted no time beginning your studies,” Kaep responded with a smile, nodding to the book Ryl had deposited on the table. “It's interesting reading. You'll find that the true wealth of knowledge already lurks within your veins.”

  Kaep was dressed in her phrenic cloak though her hood remained down, curled along the back of her neck. Her braided, brown hair spilled out around her neck, resting over her shoulder. The three others in her party had their hoods up, the dark shadows covering their faces.

  “I’ll save you some reading. We phrenics are tasked with scouting details while the Vigil maintains the troops stationed on her walls and interior. We leave on second watch now,” she explained. “We typically work in teams of four. Ryl, we were the ones who found you and Andr in the Outlands. You've been assigned to our scout detail once your recovery is complete.”

  Ryl had heard the telling of his rescue, of the feats of his phrenic saviors. He was relieved at the news he would at least be in familiar company once he was free of the mender’s care.

  “Thank you,” Ryl gasped. “It is to you who we owe our survival. I've looked forward to meeting the rest of you for some time.”

  The three hooded phrenics bowed their heads low in salute yet said not a word.

  “Your thanks are appreciated, yet unnecessary,” Kaep responded dryly. “Your rescue has been a task for which we have been training for longer than you can imagine.”

  Ryl regarded her with a confused look, cocking his head slightly to the side. Kaep flashed him a compassionate smile.

  “Read on, my friend,” she offered. “You’ll reach that part eventually.”

  Without another word, Kaep’s hands moved to her back, lifting the hood up over her head. A thick shadow immediately covered the top half of her face, and a smile pulled across her lips before she turned. The rest of her scouting party stalking after her, alighting the great stairs leading to Vim’s exit in bounds before disappearing into the tunnel.

  Ryl watched their exit with utter fascination. The phrenics exuded a confidence that was awe inspiring. They stood out like beacons among their fellow citizens of Vim, while simultaneously blending into their surroundings as if they were nothing more than shadows. Mere phantoms on the wind.

  He sank back down into his chair, admiring the city as he calculated the thoughts in his head. He longed for that confidence, that unassuming power he’d seen in the phrenics. With that power at his fingertips, could he free The Stocks? Could he free his friends?

  His recovery must come first. Eager to adhere to the mender’s orders, Ryl dove back into his education. If a lesson in history was a prerequisite to learning to harness his skills, then read he would.

  Chapter 30

  The next two days passed in rapid order. Ryl’s time was consumed studying the intriguing history of the lost city’s past. He'd seen little of Andr over the time, as Councilor Lenu and the officers of the Vigil had monopolized the mercenary’s attention. Neither Kaep nor the other phrenics had made a second appearance.

  Ryl was ecstatic to have completed the mender’s regimen of the putrid tasting remedy. With every passing moment, he felt his body reveling in the newfound freedom from the poison that had choked its veins.

  Every sensation felt heightened. His eyes spied details he'd never acknowledged were there. There was a distinct clarity, a crispness to the world, that he’d never previously noted. In the handwritten pages of the books Oswill had deposited, he spied the virtually imperceptible bleed from the ink of the fine lettering on the parchment.

  Ryl could decipher the muted conversations of Mender Brasley and Ticco from within their room on the opposite side of the hall with startling clarity. He made out the unique gait of Andr as he returned to their apartment from his meeting with the Vigil—the mercenary walked with a faint limp, from a nameless injury in his past, his right foot striking the ground slightly harder than his left.

  The food delivered to his room was simple fare by most standards, yet the flavors exploded on his taste buds. The tastes combined with an overpowering newness; as if he was eating the food for the first time. He marveled at the complexity of even the simplest of dishes.

  Ryl’s fingers lingered as they dragged across the pages of the tome he'd been reading. The fibers of the parchment stood out in stark contrast to the slight indentations where the pen’s tip had traced and ink had soaked into the paper.

  His focus was interrupted as the phrenic mindsight triggered unbidden. He noted the telltale signatures of the phrenics as they moved throughout the city, careful to mark their locations and any further details before they again faded from vision. Strangely enough, the mindsight ended as it had begun, yet he no longer noted an appreciable loss in energy.

  His recovery had continued to astonish, yet he was loath to push the bounds of his newly restored health. He had painstakingly resisted the urge to attempt the application of any of his skills as a promise to the mender. With the purging of the final toxins from his body, he could feel his strength returning, yet he was still hesitant to push the limits. Curiosity nearly got the better of him. Would his other skills require less energy to complete as well?

  Ryl placed the large book down on the table he'd dragged across the room to the side of the low couch. He'd started off the day outside, as the warmth of the sun and the cl
eanliness of the mountain breeze was preferable to the stuffy indoors. With his heightened smell, there was no hiding the lingering tendrils of stench from the remedy, though Mender Brasley repeatedly insisted they were no longer there.

  Remaining inside was preferable to persisting on the avenue today. With the ceremony proclaiming their introduction to the ranks of Vim occurring just before sundown, the lost city had taken on a distinctly more excited feel as the day progressed. The avenues grew crowded and the attention infinitely more curious.

  Ryl rubbed his eyes, letting out a wide yawn. He’d expected his reading ability to have fallen off dramatically from disuse, yet was shocked by the speed at which he took to the new books. He felt as if his skill had grown substantially, though it should have atrophied from prolonged disuse and lacking tutelage.

  The city that stretched around him was a marvel. What they had accomplished in over a thousand cycles was astonishing. Not only had the original phrenics survived, they had thrived. For a time, the settlers had reproduced out of mutual necessity over love. From the brink of extinction they had forged their city to over sixteen thousand souls, stretching the limits of what their society could now hold.

  The sound of boots upon the Avenue outside gave away Andr's approach. The mercenary entered the room, plopping himself down eagerly onto the opposite side of the couch.

  “How'd the studies go today, Ryl?” Andr quizzed.

  “Well enough, I suppose,” Ryl answered with a sigh.

  “There's a hint of discomfort in your voice, my friend,” Andr responded intuitively. “What's bothering you?”

  “I've spent far too much time idle, recovering from this or that over the last cycle,” Ryl complained. “I didn't come here just to read from some dusty ancient tomes. There are more important things to do.”

  Andr let an empathetic smile spread across his face.

  “You've never spoken of your motivation for doing the things you do, nor have I asked,” Andr commented. “Yet, you need not say a word for me to understand where your heart lays. Know that mine rests in the same place.”