Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2)

by C. J. Aaron

  Bending down, he reached for the small blade with his right hand, smiling as he noted the markings covering his arm. The tattoos somehow looked more realistic now than they had when they were applied. He focused on the woodskin; hardening the skin of his arm. The crust formed without hesitation, instantaneously covering his arm with a thick, rough bark. The undyed flesh of his arm, peeking out from between the tattoos, retained its natural coloration yet it appeared to be made entirely of wood.

  He let the protection slip as he tucked the small knife into his belt. Never before had calling on his skills been so fluid, so second nature. He focused on the mindsight, locating the other phrenics without a second thought. He held out his right hand calling in the soulborne wind. The air around his hand spun with the power of a tornado. As the wind whipped around the small chamber the sleeve of his left arm fluttered, sliding partway up, exposing the black line of tattoos. He let the torrent of wind dissipate back into nothing.

  Ryl had grown accustomed to the heightened senses after ridding the toxins of the masquerading treatments from his body. Each of his senses now fired in overdrive. Visual details were enhanced; the room appeared brighter and more defined, as if a filter obscuring the minute intricacies was removed from his eyes.

  The shuffle of his feet on the earthen floor was clearly audible as he made his way to the closed stone door. He could hear the scratch of his clothing as it brushed against his skin.

  Ryl placed his hand on the stone door. Sudden pangs of hunger caused his stomach to rumble, contracting in pain. The growl echoed through the chamber. His mouth and throat were parched and painfully dry; swallowing came with a moderate level of difficulty. As soon as his fingers contacted the door, it groaned from within as it began to withdraw into the wall to his right. He could feel every grain of the coarse stone as they brushed against his fingertips.

  The door stopped with a deafening thump as it completed its opening. Outside, the narrow hallway was dim, illuminated only by flickering light from the torches burning in the training circle. The room was vacant and appeared as if no one had trained on its hard, earthen floor for some time.

  On the small table to the side of the exit from the hallway a large waterskin waited patiently. Ryl unstoppered the welcome find, drinking greedily from its contents. The temperature of the water matched the room. How long had it awaited his return? The stone panel slowly ground to a close behind him. He turned his head at the sound, watching momentarily as the interior of the awakening chamber disappeared from view.

  Ryl experienced a moment of panic. How long had he been gone? He triggered the mindsight—automatically locating all the phrenics again with ease. It seemed that all were gathered in the hall above. His ears picked up the muffled sounds of conversation drifting down the stairwell. The scent of freshly baked bread reached his nose; his stomach growled. The intense hunger and the lure of waiting sustenance propelled him forward.

  He took the stairs two at a time ascending from within the depths of the mountain. As Ryl reached the landing before the ground floor, he heard the conversation in the room above cease. A profound feeling of relief flowed from the hall.

  Stepping out of the stairwell the feeling swelled like the rise of the tide, threatening to wash him back down the stairs. The main hall was in a state of disorganized chaos. Books and scrolls of all shapes and sizes were strewn across the surface of the grand table. The small tables by the door and against the side wall were likewise stacked high with tome after tome.

  Even more of a surprise was the physical state of the phrenics. Several menders tended to the phrenics seated around the wooden table. Rags stained with blood were piled on the end. Ticco, Mender Brasley's apprentice, was carrying a shovel full towards the fire burning quietly in the hearth. The apprentice froze, mouth agape as Ryl materialized from the stairwell.

  Without exception, the phrenics regarded him with a look of relief, smiles spreading across their faces. The comfort was eclipsed as fear crept into Ryl’s mind.

  A momentary panic set in.

  “Was there an attack?” Ryl asked in a rush.

  “No, Ryl,” Paasek answered for the group. “There's no need to worry. All are well.”

  Ryl surveyed the room. The phrenics spread out through the hall were most certainly not well. All were bloodied; streaks of crimson stretched down from their noses. All looked exhausted.

  “Then, what happened?” he inquired, waving his arm over the scene in the hall.

  Paasek rose from his chair, motioning for Mender Brasley’s attention.

  “Excuse us a moment, if you please,” Paasek announced to the menders and their apprentices who were still busy tending to the bloodied phrenics. Brasley opened his mouth to complain, a look of profound disappointment written across his face. The mender thought better of the argument, collecting Ticco and heading from the hall.

  After the last of the menders and their staff grudgingly filed from the room, Paasek sat wearily back in his chair.

  “You see, Ryl, the awakening process has an impact on all phrenics,” Paasek explained, blotting a rag against his nose. The white rag came back with a small stain of crimson.

  “Most here have experienced it before you and the phenomenon is well chronicled,” Paasek continued. “The effects are generally mild and include minor disorientation. The length and severity in your case has been a concern to all, my friend. We've been poring through every writing we could dig up, meditating on every piece of information locked inside our blood, yet none have been able to shed any light.”

  “I'm sorry to have worried you all,” Ryl expressed. “How long have I been in there?”

  The phrenics around the table exchanged uneasy glances as if none wanted to divulge the information. Paasek continued speaking for the group.

  “Ryl, it's been nearly two moons since you entered the chamber,” he admitted.

  The information sent Ryl's head reeling. How could it have been that long? He was only in the chamber for what seemed like a matter of minutes. In his heart and in his blood he knew the answer to be true. The words of Caprien had admitted as much. Time had no meaning in the nexus.

  “What of all the preparations?” Ryl asked, changing the subject. “Are they still on schedule?”

  “Aye, that they are,” Paasek acknowledged with a subtle shake of his head and a weak chuckle. “The roses grow larger daily. Saldaria is confident that they’ll produce the necessary leaves in time.”

  Ryl exhaled a heavy sigh of relief.

  “I'm afraid our Vigil counterparts will no doubt curse your return though,” Paasek intoned. “Since your awakening began, our powers have been unpredictable. In many cases, they’re been unresponsive. Our diminished skills have led to a dramatic swelling of the Vigil’s collective ego.”

  There was a half-hearted chuckle from a few of the phrenics around the room.

  “I must admit, their improvement has continued steadily,” Paasek acknowledged. “Your mercenary friend is a fine teacher. Andr has pushed them with a ruthless vigor since you entered the chamber. He no doubt relishes his pupils’ successes over the phrenics. He was none too pleased with us that he wasn't notified of your awakening.”

  Ryl’s stomach answered with a low growl that was heard by all. Paasek sprang from his chair at the head of the table at the sound, ushering Ryl to sit.

  “Eria, please grab some food from the kitchen for our newest phrenic,” Paasek ordered politely. The young phrenic hurried off without a word.

  As Ryl eased into the chair, he realized just how exhausted he was. His body may have remained idle in the chamber, yet he had been anything but inactive during his out-of-body experience. The mental exhaustion was overpowering. His mind was still coming to terms with the deluge of information that had now become freely accessible.

  Ryl ate ravenously as the small portion of food was placed in front of him. He was well aware of the dangers of consuming too much after such a long period without, yet his appetite coul
d not be restrained. How his body had survived the duration of the awakening without sustenance would forever be a mystery.

  As he ate, the conversion carried on around him. He could feel the eyes of the other phrenics studying the new markings on his arm. The markings to a phrenic were as recognizable as a face. Once it was committed to memory, it would be forever identifiable.

  The phrenics gathered in the hall looked weary. Their eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, and most still dabbed at the remnants of bloody noses. Ryl noted that a few had stains of blood that ran down from under their ears. Blood notwithstanding, Ryl was sure he looked as haggard as the rest of the phrenics.

  He eased back in his chair, resting his head for a moment against the top of its high, wooden back.

  Paasek cleared his throat, drawing the attention of all in the room.

  “The evening grows late,” Paasek announced, moving to stand just to the side of Ryl's chair. “The last few moons have been a test on all. We, phrenic of Vim are stronger now for it. Though all phrenics would undoubtedly see you for who you are, let the markings on your arm be a permanent reminder.”

  Ryl felt his cheeks flush with red at the undue attention.

  “From this moment forward, and evermore, you are phrenic in both deed and blood,” he announced. The cheer that rose from the lips of those assembled belied the exhaustion in their eyes.

  “Thank you, my friends,” Ryl said graciously.

  He surveyed the room. How much had they all suffered during his awakening? He felt the pang of guilt as he met the eyes of his phrenic brethren surrounding him. His eyes lingered momentarily on the far side of the table from where he sat. There the other members of his scout detail, Kaep, Deyalou, Vox and Ramm smiled proudly.

  “You're welcome,” Deyalou said with a playful smile. “Only next time would you please not take so long.”

  There was scattered laughter from the phrenics assembled in the hall. Paasek merely shook his head at the remark. Ryl could feel the nervous tension evaporate from the room in the wake of the comment, yet he rose slowly from his chair.

  “I'm sorry for keeping you waiting,” he replied as he carefully removed his cloak, resting it on the high back of his chair. “Though I cannot be certain, I only assume this had something to do with the delay.”

  Ryl hesitantly rolled the sleeve of his left arm up, revealing the fresh markings underneath. There was a collective gasp from the room—several phrenics sprung to their feet, their eyes wide.

  “Impossible,” Vox stammered as he rose to his feet. “The powers have never been manifested in both arms. There’s no record of this happening before.” He quickly rounded the table, approaching Ryl from the left.

  “And yet, here they are,” Ryl professed. “Though I must admit, I know not the reasoning, or what they signify.”

  A brilliant sun covered his elbow, extending outward a hands width down his forearm as well as up over his bicep. There were large tracts of unmarked skin inside the burning ball of flame. Lines of radiating fire appeared to shift as if the sun burned away on his arm. Above and below the fiery orb, his skin was tattooed solid black. The darkness stretched down to his left wrist and upward, curling over the top of his shoulder. Whether by design or not, it looked as if it was glowing

  “Was there no hint as to the purpose?” Paasek asked curiously.

  Ryl shook his head as Paasek placed his hand on the side of his elbow. The elder phrenic’s face took on a puzzled expression as he slid his hand down to Ryl’s forearm.

  “The skin is noticeably warmer,” he announced.

  Ryl flinched in discomfort as the phrenics that now surrounded him took turns touching his skin, gauging the difference in temperature, inspecting every minute detail. Kaep remained apart from the group, contented in her amusement at the groping attention.

  “Unsettling as this may be, the secrecy as to its purpose isn’t all together unsurprising," Paasek announced. "While you have been granted access to the knowledge and powers inherent in your blood, the alexen still function with their own will of sorts. They still covet their secrets, through rest assured, they will impart the wisdom when the time is right.”

  Ryl found a small degree of comfort in the reassurance, though his uncertainty lingered. He vowed to focus on learning what he could as time allowed.

  Thankfully soon after the impromptu examination ceased, the phrenics began excusing themselves from the hall. Eager for rest and time to recharge, Ryl was quick to follow.

  Heavy from exhaustion, his eyes closed the moment he collapsed into his bed. Once asleep, the night terrors again ravaged his riddled mind.

  Chapter 42

  Ryl walked alone, his sluggish pace taking him across a narrow stone bridge spanning the river that flowed underneath. A low parapet guarded each side of the roadway, while stone foundations supported arches some ten meters above the water. To his front, a small town spread along the banks of the river.

  Stretching out into the water on the far side of the river were a row of narrow wooden piers. Small fishing vessels and sailing boats thumped carelessly in their berths. The street bordering the dock featured a row of stalls where vendors would sell their catch or various wares. A tavern and inn were mixed in among four moderately sized warehouses. Across the main avenue stretching into the heart of the town, shops and various multi-story residences were arranged in a neat row.

  Clothing swayed quietly from balconies. The wooden signs detailing the varied shop’s insignias squeaked as they swayed in the morning breeze. The village was devoid of any signs of life. Ryl paused as he reached the center of the bridge. Something was amiss. The oppressive, choking feeling of hatred started to creep into his senses.

  He reached for the Leaves, alarmed to discover that they, along with their custom holster were gone. From around the corner of the first row of buildings glided the shadowed figures of seven warriors. Ryl pivoted his head looking for an avenue of escape. From the trees bordering the road at the opposite side of the bridge, a similar party of seven blocked his path. Each held a vicious looking longsword in one hand, a circular shield in the other.

  Their shields were stained black, matching the darkness that emanated from their bodies. Each shield was ringed with an uneven arrangement of pointed spikes dyed blood red. A crude design of a face was painted by hand on each. The designs were all similar yet expressed a uniqueness all their own. All shields had two white streaks for eyes, a white splotch for a nose and a slightly curved line of crimson dots for a mouth. The hint of a smile was lost with the animosity that poured from the holders.

  The two parties began slowly closing in on him. Every step left a stain of black on the surrounding ground. The darkness spread, choking off the road. From upstream, the darkness, like a spill of black on the water, flowed silently toward the bridge. From downstream, the inky coating crawled up the river, pulling itself over the lazy rapids.

  A fight on the bridge pinned in between two foes, unarmed as he was, would be suicide. Ryl charged forward, striking the black cloaked figures with a focused blast of wind. Their approach slowed as their shields took the brunt of the gale, yet all remained afoot. Again he tried—the gout of wind dissipated against their shields, their cloaks flapping angrily in its wake.

  Ryl retreated a step as the parties closed on both sides. He was unarmed. He was defenseless. His head swiveled back and forth as their agonizing approach ground to a halt several meters from where he remained. Their solid mass formed a wall spanning between both edges of the bridge.

  Their movement had ceased, yet the black stain spreading out around them continued inching toward Ryl. The blackness surrounded him, forcing him to the center of the bridge. The circle of clarity squeezed tighter. He struck at the blackness with the soulborne wind, a futile effort that sent ripples across its surface.

  Onward it crept.

  Ryl spun frantically around. The cloaked warriors remained where they stood. Their projected emotions slammed into him wi
th an overpowering force that send his body reeling backward. The feelings were potent, disorienting and confusing. He felt the overwhelming, unadulterated hatred and the frantic anxiety. There was pain. There was fear.

  Was it his fear, or theirs?

  The sensations were strong, yet under it he sensed there was something more. Something he was missing, a feeling he couldn’t pinpoint.

  His body never struck ground. The blackness closed around him.

  Ryl sat panting in his bed. The nightmares had been plaguing his sleep relentlessly for moons. Rarely was he able to string together successive nights of uninterrupted sleep. Ever since his awakening, the dream had been an ever-present and unwelcome companion throughout most of his nights.

  At one point, he’d been so desperate for uninterrupted sleep he’d spoken with Mender Brasley, begged him for some remedy to assist with his slumber. Even though he already knew it was a foregone conclusion, he was desperate enough to try. The potion he received had worked for mere hours. The alexen in his blood fought the peace bringing ingredient like a poison. His phrenic brethren were sympathetic to his plight. The healing properties of his blood were a curse in this situation.

  Ryl slipped out of bed, donning his shoes and cloak. He grabbed the holster and Leaves that rested on the table as he headed for the door. Rarely did he move around the city without the covering of his cloak. When outside the Hall of the Phrenic he routinely wore his hood up, hiding his face in shadow. Though the news of his mysteriously tattooed left arm had not traveled further than the phrenics, the unusual length of his awakening was common knowledge. The mysticism surrounding his active blood and the prophecy added an uncomfortable amount of attention.