Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2)

by C. J. Aaron

  Ryl looked around at the thousands reveling in the streets before him. They moved carefree, though they lived a sheltered existence. It was a life he craved, yet at his core, it was a life he knew he could never accept wholeheartedly. He could never let slip the ache in his soul as long as the tributes remained enslaved. As long as children were being torn from their families.

  Shaking off the morose thoughts, he followed along at Andr’s side, focusing on a genuine smile as they made their way into the crowd. After every step they were stopped by groups wishing to greet them, welcoming them with open arms to their city. In Ryl’s case, some were content to merely reach out and touch him. It was an unnerving feeling.

  This scene repeated time and time again as they worked their way to the central square. The distance couldn’t have been more than several hundred meters, yet the trip lasted hours. Ryl noted the unmistakable ebb of his strength that began to take hold as they approached the festivities of the square. The volume of the music was raucous as it competed with the din of the crowd. The mixture of sounds in the square was deafening.

  Andr guided their travel to the edge of the market square, stopping alongside a small row of varied shops. The mercenary put a foot onto the protruding square cornerstone at the base of the building, raising his head up above the crowd. Balancing himself with one arm on the building, he scanned the crowd; his head turning from one side to the other in a wide arc; until he located his mark. Andr stretched his other arm, waving his hand above his head for a moment before hopping down.

  “There,” Andr called out. “That’s Dav. He’s an officer of the Vigil, I’ve worked with him over the last few days. He’ll lead us somewhere less crowded.”

  Ryl trailed in his wake as readily as his weakening legs and the revelry of the crowd would allow. They skirted the border of the square to where Dav waited at the western corner of the Northfate.

  Andr clasped hands with the man as they arrived. The avenue north of the square was considerably less crowded than the one they had just exited. Ryl leaned against the wall for support.

  “You must be Ryl,” the guard said with a smile. “The name’s Dav. Andr’s told me a lot about you in our short time together. Seems they forgot to mention your name at the ceremony.”

  In the wash of Ryl’s apprehension, he’d failed to notice that omission. The awestruck faces of the citizens who were content to simply brush their hands against his arm were more understandable. Councilwoman Irie, whether intentionally or not, had done nothing to diminish the burden of the figurative weight that had been suddenly heaped upon his shoulders.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Ryl admitted with a genuine smile.

  Dav, as with the majority of the citizens of Vim, appeared to be remarkably fit. His tall, athletic build stood half a head taller than Ryl. He had a kind look to his face, and his hair was a mass of curly brown locks that spilled from the top of his head. Unlike the weathered, scarred face of Andr, his complexion was flawless. A product of hours of guarded practice with nary an opportunity for a real fight.

  “Ryl, you don’t look well,” Andr commented. A look of genuine concern flashed across his face.

  “My energy is fading faster than I had hoped, that is all,” Ryl said. He would have emphasized the statement by projecting a feeling of exhaustion, yet he was too afraid of the consequences in his current state.

  “I’ll help you back to the room,” Andr stated, turning to Dav, intent on offering an apology.

  “I’m not crippled, just tired, my friend. Besides you've carried me far enough,” Ryl said sarcastically, interrupting Andr as he opened his mouth to speak. “If I’m not mistaken, this alley should lead to the avenue that runs by the schools. I can follow that back.”

  “Aye, that’s correct, Ryl,” Dav chimed in. “The path will be much less crowded than either of the main avenues.”

  “Then I will respectfully pass on continuing the celebration tonight,” Ryl said to Dav, with a slight bow of his head.

  “You are always welcome at our table, Ryl,” Dav offered. “You are one of us now.”

  Ryl smiled in response. The blind acceptance of a stranger was exhilarating. He’d been welcomed into their society, yet a part of him struggled with the drastic change. Had the blind hatred merely been replaced by reverent awe? His mirth was diminished due to the weight of the prophecy; he longed for an opportunity to prove his value and his worth. His hand subconsciously traveled to the numbered brand upon his neck under his right ear. His skin burned as his fingers traveled over the raised scars.

  His actions were his own. Never again would he be seen as just a number; aged like wine before being served to a hungry, glutinous sponsor. Yet, inside, there remained a lingering doubt. So inured had he been to the hatred, the toxic words, that he waited in discomfort for unbridled animosity and scorn to rear their ugly heads once more.

  “Thank you, Dav,” Ryl said graciously, offering a small bow.

  “Anytime, my friend,” the officer said before turning to Andr. “Now, come. We have celebrating to do. Let’s not keep the rest of ‘em waiting.”

  Dav turned, gesturing for Andr to follow with a wave of his arm.

  “Get some rest, Ryl,” Andr said, walking backward, following the retreating guard. “I’ll not be long. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Ryl nodded again, leaning against the building as he paused to watch his friend hurry after Dav. The pair crossed to the western edge of the avenue, disappearing into the next alleyway on the far side.

  He pushed himself off the wall, walking northward up the Northfate. At the first intersection, he turned to the right, dipping off the main avenue into a short alley that ran between the rear of the buildings of the central square and a large four-story residence house. The darkness of the early evening was upon them. The alley was lit by the warm glow of several evenly spaced lanterns on the building’s side.

  As with the other buildings in the city, the facades were marvelously sculpted, featuring lifelike works of art in stone and wood. The traffic in the alley was light, and the citizens he passed greeted him warmly before carrying on their ways. There were no spiteful words, or even the cold looks of indifference he’d grown used to within the confines of The Stocks.

  Ryl focused on maintaining an even stride as his strength faded with every passing step. He urged his body on faster as the exhaustion sunk its claws deeper into his body. The sudden onset was alarming. Earlier in the evening, his body had felt better than it had in moons, yet his strength and endurance now failed at a startling rate, even without any strenuous activity.

  He crossed another of the smaller avenues running north and south through the city. Ryl paused to catch his breath as he reached the other side. The intersection bordered the University on its eastern side; a row of sculpted stone benches lined its exterior of its grounds, their backs to the Avenue. Between the benches and University rested a small, immaculately maintained garden of flowers and short decorative trees.

  Ryl collapsed onto the first stone bench to rest his legs. He took a large breath, marveling at the allaying fragrance of the flowers. Almost simultaneously, he was struck with another wave of sensations.

  Calm and understanding.

  He rotated his head, searching for the origin of the feelings. To his right, heading north up the illuminated avenue in his direction was a phrenic. The tattoos were immediately recognizable.

  Kaep.

  Her hood was down, her hair and cloak billowed out behind her as she moved silently toward him.

  “Hello, Kaep,” Ryl called out as the phrenic approached. “How did you find me?”

  She sat comfortably on the opposite side of the bench, laying her arm across its decorative back.

  “You'll soon learn there's no need to ask questions for which you already know the answer,” Kaep said. “For those who know how to look, you are an easy one to locate.”

  “The mindsight?” he quizzed.

  �
��Aye, that’s right,” Kaep responded. “Your signature shines far brighter than the others. What are you doing here? Tonight's celebration is in your honor.”

  Ryl looked away, absently surveying the flowers in the low light from the lanterns of the avenue.

  “I fear that my strength has yet to return to where it needs to be,” Ryl sighed. “The poison demanded a far greater toll. Though Mender Brasley praises the speed of my recovery, I’m at the whim of my body’s unpredictable lack of endurance.”

  Ryl looked down at his legs, willing the strength to return. He was mildly uncomfortable with the added attention.

  “In truth, I needed to sit here, I don’t think I could have made it back to the room had I not stopped for a break,” he lamented.

  Kaep looked at him with sympathetic eyes. A cheerful smile spread out across her face.

  “Then I’ll walk with you. Let me be your crutch if you need one,” she rose to her feet offering Ryl her arm for assistance.

  Her appearance was an unexpected boon. Ryl was grateful for her help rising to his feet as well as for her company. Kaep stood to his right, offering him her left arm, covered with the fabric of her cloak. The electric sensation that resulted from their contact was muted, yet he clearly noted its presence. Had he not been actively searching for the sensation, he was sure his mind would have written it off. He was hesitant to broach the subject, though his mind pondered the reasoning.

  Kaep matched his awkwardly slow stride as they moved southward down the narrow avenue. The roads of Vim all appeared to run in straight lines that intersected at perfect right angles. All the roads were uniformly paved with tight fitting cobblestones and lit by the steady glow of lanterns that dangled above, just out of arm's reach. The tall wooden light poles were evenly spaced along the lanes.

  There were few people traveling the alley as they made their way toward the Westfate. The ones they passed wore smiles and conferred boisterous greetings, most likely hastening toward the joyous noise from the square. Small pockets of celebrations had spilled out along the main avenue. They kept their heads down as they quietly weaved their way through the groups. Ryl wanted to avoid raising any extra attention.

  Escaping the bustle of the main avenue, the alley ahead of them was clear save for a single group that lounged along the side of the academic building to the left. Their mood was strangely subdued when compared to the revelers in the avenues and square behind them.

  Ryl felt a tingle of apprehension rise in his body as they moved closer to the gathering. The group had positioned themselves facing the avenue, their backs to the school behind them. Their apathetic yet annoyed stares reminded Ryl of the looks he'd grown accustomed to seeing from the guards in The Stocks. The similarities sent a chill down his spine.

  “Ah, so the prodigal son finally arrives,” the man in the center of the group called out as Ryl and Kaep passed.

  “This boy looks barely old enough to be removed from his mother's teat,” he sneered to the snickers from his peers.

  Kaep froze in place before pivoting to face the speaker. Gone from her face was the casual hint of a smile; her lips pinched together into tight, thin lines. The anger that burned in her removed any trace of the cheerful young woman he’d been walking with. In its place was the searing stare of a relentless warrior.

  The look was awe inspiring in its sheer ferocity.

  Several of the men and women in the group shrunk back involuntarily at her nonverbal challenge.

  “Mind your tongue,” Kaep hissed. A wave of pure scorn seeped from her body, breaking over Ryl and the small group. Several others shrunk back before she regained control over her emotions.

  “Need I remind you the history The Stocks has taught us,” she cursed.

  The man in the center seemed unfazed by the phrenic’s sudden wave of emotion. He stepped forward, distancing himself from the group behind him. Another wave of chills rushed through Ryl. The unfettered air of superiority that the man exuded from his every pore reminded him of Master Delsith.

  The man appeared to be in his early to mid-twenties and was of average height. His athletic build and his aggressive posture spoke to his unending confidence in his fighting prowess. His wavy, dark hair was slicked back, his face framed by a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes, colorless in the dim light of the street held the same familiar scorn.

  “That's right. How could I forget?” he spat sarcastically, spreading his arms out wide in mock concession. “Damaris’ unwanted orphans. Raised by the herd then, eh?”

  Now it was Ryl’s turn to bristle with anger. He could feel the inferno brewing in his body as the heat of the fire surged through his veins. At the same time the hurt from old wounds he’d thought long since suppressed ached anew. Kaep stepped in front of him, breaking his focus … and the blood in his veins cooled.

  “Let us carry on, they're not worth wasting the energy,” Kaep said as she turned her back to the group, casually pulling Ryl with her. The caustic remarks and jeers followed them as they continued down the alley.

  He'd grown a thick skin throughout the cycles, and venomous words typically flowed off him like water. The words tonight, however, burned with an uncommon sting. In his heart he had hoped that Vim would be entirely different, that within her walls he'd be free from the irrational animosity and misguided hatred he'd come to recognize as commonplace. The realization of his own naivete was sobering. The hatred of something different, something unexplainable and misunderstood, was universal.

  “Mind him not, Ryl,” Kaep said, flashing him a forced smile. “There are some that will say or do anything purely to spark your response. I saw that look in your eyes. I felt the fire.”

  “Who is he?” Ryl asked, changing the subject.

  “His name is Nielix,” Kaep sighed. “He is the vocal figurehead for the growing group among us that wish to see our return to the world. He believes the prophecy is nothing more than a farce to keep us in isolation.”

  Kaep cast a glance back over her shoulder. Though a few insults were lobbed in their direction, the party remained where they stood. Her statement was heartfelt, yet Ryl detected a hint of apprehension in her voice, as if there was more to the story than she was admitting.

  “In his mind, it is with sword and brute strength that we should make ourselves known to Damaris,” she continued. “His skills with a blade are among the finest the Vigil has ever seen.”

  In leaving The Stocks, he thought he'd finally left behind the unwarranted hatred. The reality struck a reeling blow to his new-found freedom. His situation had been altered dramatically, given a breathtakingly beautiful facelift, yet in the end, the attitudes were startlingly similar.

  The pair walked onward in contemplative silence. Even at his sluggish pace, they covered the remaining distance rapidly.

  “They don’t know the true extent of what the phrenic are capable of, do they?” Ryl questioned. Kaep stopped abruptly. He turned his head, their eyes met. Her face was flushed with a pained smile.

  “No, Ryl. They do not,” Kaep confessed. “They have legends from the phrenics of old. All are aware that a wealth of knowledge was lost as a result of the Barren. During those dark cycles, it was decided that the survival of the city could never again be reliant on the enhanced abilities of the phrenics. The martial training that every citizen maintains had always been a facet of life, yet it became a priority at that point. As you will soon learn, our training carries on in secret. We are forbidden from discussing the true nature of our skills.”

  “Do you not fear retribution if your deceit is discovered?” Ryl asked cautiously.

  “Yes, that is a legitimate concern,” Kaep said with a sigh. “The phrenics of old served the people as we do today. Though our duties keep us removed from the city frequently, in Vim we are farmers, we are artists, we are intellectuals.”

  “What are you?” Ryl inquired.

  “A tale for another day, I suppose,” Kaep said as she slowly backed away.

  “Goo
dnight, Ryl.”

  Chapter 32

  Ryl had fallen asleep quickly. His exhausted body demanded succor. It was through sheer, stubborn will that he hadn’t asked Kaep for help walking during the final stretch to his residence. Andr’s arrival in the middle of the night had gone unnoticed, yet the mercenary was already up when Ryl woke. The sun had yet to crest over the mountains though the sky was beginning to show signs of its arrival.

  “Good morning, Ryl,” Andr greeted him with a smile.

  Ryl stretched with a yawn rising gingerly from his bed.

  “Morning. I know the Council asked for an early start, but this is earlier than I expected,” Ryl noted.

  “No. The Council may be strict, yet from all I can tell, they aren’t cruel,” Andr joked as he finished strapping his sword to his belt. “I have an early training session with the Vigil before we set out this morning. Once you’re ready, I was to inform you to head to the Hall of the Phrenic. They’ll be expecting you.”

  Andr hurried from the room, leaving Ryl to dress and prepare in peace. The mercenary had left a small plate of food alongside the cup of water on the table by his bed. Ryl sat as he ate the small meal of dried sausages and bread, marveling at how sensory the process had become. The tastes, the textures, the smells of the simple fare were all heightened to a state far past what used to be their norm.

  His legs felt strong after the debilitating weakness he’d encountered the previous night. In his mind lingered the fear that his strength would fail him today. Merely the act of walking should not have been a cause for consternation. With how aggressively the exhaustion had crept up on him the night before, Ryl was cautiously optimistic he’d make it through the day.

  Remaining idle in his room, biding the time until their party was ready to depart was not a welcomed proposition. His curiosity at meeting the one Vim referred to as the prophet was too great a desire. The call for answers too luring a temptation.