by C. J. Aaron
Ryl’s memory flashed back to the time spent reliving Caprien's last moments. He knew the stance. He felt the endless hours spent in training, perfecting the positioning of every muscle. He could feel how this position flowed into the next depending on the actions of his adversary.
As quickly as it came, the memory faded and the blades winked out of existence. His pose now felt unnatural. Ryl maintained the position as best he could, while concentrating with all his might to access the memory of Caprien. Like with the woodskin, he felt the answer was there, lying just past his farthest reach.
Both mentally and physically drained, Ryl gave up the pursuit of the knowledge. He needed to hurry to make Tabenville in time. Already, he’d tarried too long. Removing the cloak, he carefully folded it and placed it in the earthen container along with the Leaves. The apprehension he felt leaving the weapons behind was painfully evident, so much so that the Erlyn sent a reassuring feeling that stilled his tense nerves.
Ryl focused again, this time connecting with the woods, immediately turning his search toward the road. The road was quiet save for the padded footfall of a small group near the middle, heading in the direction of Tabenville. The weary gaits and quiet impact of soft shoes or bare feet gave the tributes away.
Ryl counted himself lucky. If he hurried, he wouldn’t have to enter the village alone. There was strength in numbers, both mentally and physically. It took him an instant to open a pathway behind the position of the group. Panting from the difficulty of the work, he hurried as fast as he could toward the fellow tributes.
Reaching the intersection with the main road, Ryl slowed, allowing himself a moment to regain his breath. He peered cautiously in both directions, content that no one was in sight. He hurried from the small path, rushing to catch the group.
It didn't take long for him to pick up the signs of the party in front of him. Although they were speaking in hushed voices, the sound traveled well through the forest. As he drew closer to the group the familiar feeling of warmth and welcome, the attraction between phrenics, or tributes, began creeping into his mind. Ryl paused. Closing his eyes he concentrated on pinpointing the location of the feeling, the skill Da’agryn had referred to as phrenic mindsight. He noted a light golden glow emanating from where he expected the group would be. He turned his head from side to side. The position of the glow moved in conjunction with his movements.
Ryl was pleased with his newfound understanding. If what Da’agryn had told him was correct, he could train himself to expand his mindsight to locate other phrenics. How far would his ability allow him to see? The possibilities were exhilarating.
Ryl smiled as he opened his eyes and continued on in pursuit of the tributes. Rounding a small bend in the road, he was awarded his first glimpse of the group a short distance ahead of him. He could make out what appeared to be two men and a woman. The gloom of the Erlyn prevented him from making out any distinguishing details.
“Hello friends,” Ryl hailed, hoping his call would not startle them. The trio stopped immediately, turning to face the unknown voice. Both men took a step back toward Ryl, leaving a small gap between themselves and the woman, their postures were less than welcoming.
Practicing his newfound skills, Ryl sent a feeling of comfort in their direction, while holding his arms out wide in a gesture of peace.
“Who is it?” one of the male tributes called back. His voice sounded familiar, yet Ryl couldn’t place it.
“It’s Ryl. I hope I didn’t startle you,” Ryl said apologetically as he approached within a few paces of the group.
“Ryl,” the woman cried out happily, stepping forward in between the two men. “I haven’t seen you in moons. It’s me, Luan.” The visible tension in her erstwhile guardians subsided almost immediately.
Luan’s smile transitioned to a frown as she stopped directly in front of Ryl.
“What do you think you're doing scaring us like that?” she said, playfully slapping Ryl on the arm. Her frown reverted to a coy grin as she pulled him into an embrace.
Luan (H1353), was once the beloved daughter of a traveling scribe. Having lost her mother to disease at an early age, she had lived a life without roots, traveling with her father throughout the kingdom. As a result, she was well educated, literate and a capable and patient teacher, having instructed a number of The Stock's tributes to read and write throughout the cycles.
Her father had been devastated by the news of her testing and the confirmation of alexen in her blood. The pair had fled immediately. They lived in fear and off forged papers for cycles before they were tracked down in a small village near the capital city of Leremont. Her father was shown no mercy, savagely beaten and murdered before her eyes.
The pair behind approached. Ryl recognized them immediately, Tash and Palon (H1354). The inseparable duo was known by all in The Stocks. As far as records went, they were the only twins The Stocks had ever seen.
Like Ryl, they were born into a working family. Also, like Ryl, they were given up by their family without a second though. The promise of a twofold bounty and an elevation far beyond anything they could have achieved otherwise had been too great of a temptation to resist.
The twins were virtually identical. Ryl still had difficulty telling them apart. Tash, the older of the two by minutes, had a small scar running across his forehead that served as the differentiator between the two. He was also the mouthpiece of the pair, friendly and outgoing, with a wit that seemed incongruous with the gloomy mood of The Stocks.
Palon, on the other hand, was the introvert of the duo. Ryl couldn't remember hearing him say more than a dozen words in the several cycles they'd been penned in together. Although his mouth rarely moved, his eyes were in a perpetual state of motion, as if he were cataloging and storing every minute detail of the world around him. Ryl exchanged a hearty handshake with each of the twins.
“What brings you to the fine little hamlet of Tabenville?” Tash asked, voice dripping with sarcasm and more than just a touch of spite. “Are you just getting here now?”
“No, I arrived late afternoon yesterday,” Ryl said. “I’m assigned to the orchards. Unfortunately, I arrived too late and spent the evening enjoying the sub-master’s hospitality.”
He inadvertently rubbed his neck with his right hand. The physical discomfort had been washed away, yet he could still feel the drops pounding down on the back of his neck.
Tash's face cringed slightly, a knowing look of pain flashed across his face. Tears began to well in the corners of Luan's eyes.
“I'm so sorry,” Tash consoled, placing a sympathetic hand on Ryl's shoulder. “Didn’t know that was you out there. Really sorry, there’s nothing we could have done to help.”
Ryl was caught off guard by the wave of genuine sorrow that flowed from Tash. He hoped his eyes didn't register the similar shock. Tash was still nearly five cycles from his Harvest. Had he learned some degree of control over the power that flowed through his veins, or was it an involuntary reaction?
Ryl’s curiosity was piqued. He made a mental note to observe Tash as best he could. Inwardly, he frowned as he remembered the explicit warning from Da’agryn not to reveal or discuss his powers with the other tributes. Did others have control of their powers as well?
The thought opened Ryl’s mind to a world of new possibilities. Perhaps the testing process wasn't as accurate as expected, or perhaps the saturation rate wasn't truly a constant, but variable based on the individual and other environmental factors and stimuli. If either were true, how many more tributes could be brimming with a power they failed to understand and lacked the knowledge to control?
“No need for you to apologize,” Ryl stuttered, shrugging his shoulders. “Nothing you could have done about it anyway.”
“What happened here?” Ryl asked. “It hasn't even been a cycle since I’ve been back to Tabenville. It wasn't this bad before.”
Luan's shoulders dropped and she put her head down as a tear fell from her eye. She covered
her face in her hands, turning away from Ryl. Palon joined the conversation, yet no words were needed. The message was clear. He slowly shook his head side to side, his eyes now focused in a look that commanded pause. His morose smirk verified that this was not the correct time, place, or company for the conversation.
“I’m sorry, Luan,” Ryl offered sympathetically.
Her shoulders rose visibly as she took a steadying breath, falling slowly as she exhaled. Luan wiped her eyes with her hands and turned back toward the group.
“No, Ryl, there’s no need for you to apologize,” she whispered.
“Luan, you don’t have to do this,” Tash said, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. Ryl felt the wash of sympathy. If either Luan or Palon had noticed the feeling, they showed no sign.
“It’s ok, Tash, really.” Her words came with an unexpected fiery determination. “We can talk as we walk. It’s good to get this off my chest.”
The group started walking at a moderate pace toward Tabenville. The twins were in front, while Ryl and Luan lagged a few steps behind.
“Things changed after the last Harvest, Ryl,” Luan continued. “The story, as best we can piece it together, was that sub-master Osir and the company under his command were scheduled to be repositioned outside of The Stocks immediately following the Harvest. What happened is anyone’s guess, and I supposed it doesn’t rightly matter. Sometime during the Harvest, Master Delsith informed Osir that he and his detachment would remain here for the next cycle. Osir was livid, so much so, that he managed to have his command extended for a second cycle in the process.”
“I wish I could say it serves the heartless bastard Osir right,” Tash interrupted. He spat off to the side of the road, as if the mention of Osir’s name was poison in his mouth. “Curse them all.”
Luan looked blankly down at the road, continuing her story.
“You know as well as I, the guards have never been kind,” Luan groaned. “Osir had always turned a blind eye to the verbal abuse and a beating here and there in the past. The monster that returned from the Harvest thrives on it. He installed his rack at the end of the pier, began making shows of torturing us for no infraction at all.”
Ryl nodded his head in response. He knew all too well the punishment that was joyously doled out. The group rounded the last corner and the wooded exit to the Erlyn loomed in front of them. The lights of the village could be seen burning through the mist and low light of the early evening.
“Hardly a day goes by that a tribute isn’t beaten.” Luan stopped as she spoke, her voice wavering. “Osir rewards the cruelest among them, those who inflict the most pain.”
“What does he reward them with?” Ryl asked quietly, stopping at her side.
Every fiber in his body strained in hopes that the answer wasn’t what he feared. He felt his blood heating with every lingering moment of silence that passed between them.
“Flesh, Ryl,” Luan spoke in no more than a whisper. The tears began streaming down her cheeks as she continued between sobs. “He rewards them with women.”
Ryl stepped closer to comfort her. She stopped him with a look, her eyes meeting his. The pain they held was unfathomable, a depth he could never hope to comprehend. She cradled her arms protectively in front of her.
“Ryl, I’m with child.”
24
The fire raged inside Ryl as the world around him came to a halt. The flickering lights of the fires illuminating Tabenville slowed to constant pinpoints through the mist of the waterfall. For a moment, the urge to let himself go, to give in to the desperate plea from his blood nearly overpowered the inner voice that begged for restraint. The struggle raged inside him for what seemed like an eternity, while the world held its breath awaiting the outcome.
Ryl focused on slowing his breathing, willing his body to calm. The news was appalling. The depravity that had fallen onto the unwitting inhabitants of Tabenville went far beyond excessive, as if their current states weren’t intolerable enough. The added abuse and the non-consensual offering of the women as gifts were beyond reprieve.
He wanted to march into the village, to stand in the face of the guard. The call from his blood urged him to war. His head knew that it would be a futile attempt. Ryl put his hand on Luan’s shoulder, letting a calm flow out of him.
“I’m sorry, Luan,” he stammered.
“It’s ok, Ryl, really it is,” Luan admitted. Her words lacked substance, spoken as more of a reassurance to herself than an outward statement. The corners of her mouth pulled up into a feeble, forced smile, that contradicted the pain written across her face.
“I see that look in your eyes. There’s nothing you can do,” Luan pleaded. “Please don’t do anything foolish. We should really be getting back.”
Luan, gently prodded Ryl forward with a pat on the shoulder, and they quickly caught the pair who had waited a few paces ahead of them, just out of earshot. There was a group of tributes ahead of them, just entering the village square. The guards were circling like a school of sharks, waiting for the first scent of blood to incite the frenzy.
Ryl and his small group slipped past the stables, reaching the main village without incident. With heads hung low avoiding eye contact, they entered the square. A group of guards heaping insults at the pair of quickly retreating tributes ahead of them blocked their direct path to the relative safety of the boarding house. Ryl and his friends unintentionally huddled closer together as they were driven toward the officer’s quarters and barracks that bordered the square.
Ryl surveyed his surroundings out of the corners of his eyes, wary of the blow that might come without warning. The guards, having lost interest in the pair that was now safely inside the common house, turned their insults toward Ryl’s party. Their path to safety now led them directly in front of the officer’s quarters before they could angle toward their residence. Ryl’s heart skipped a beat when he caught a glimpse of sub-master Osir hovering malevolently over a fellow tribute. The unfortunate tribute was hunched down tending the flowers that bordered the gated fence to his quarters. The unease in Ryl’s stomach grew with every step.
They were only a few paces away. Ryl’s eyes trained on the sub-master’s every move. Osir, noticing their approach, snarled. A primitive, guttural growl escaped from somewhere deep within, as if the mere presence of the group were an insult. Osir turned and kicked the heel of his heavy boot into the shoulder of the terrified tribute tending the garden at his feet, sending him sprawling in pain onto the rough ground of the square.
In that instant, his decision was made. Any resistance left in his body faded, carried away like the mist swirling in the square. Ryl moved toward the writhing tribute. Luan desperately grabbed at his sleeve, trying to stop him, but he shrugged off her grasp with a roll of his shoulder. He let the bucket and pack slip from his hands, the sound of the hollow metal hitting the stone reverberated like a gong throughout the square.
Ryl bent down, gently helping the stunned tribute to his feet. A line of blood mingled with dirt and hair as it ran down the man’s cheek. Eyes unfocussed, the stunned tribute wavered slightly side to side as he sought to regain his balance. Ryl raised himself to his full height and wheeled on his feet, staring directly into the unshaven face of the sub-master.
The collective gasp from the square was audible over the roar of the falls. The difference in height between the two seemed less as if they were standing on uneven ground. Ryl’s eyes burned with fire, unblinking as he met Osir’s hateful glare. The shock on the sub-master’s face vanished instantly. His cheeks flushed red with rage at the insolence of the tribute daring to defy him. Even through his heavy woolen clothes, worn to lessen the chill that accompanied the mist, Ryl could see the sub-master puff up at the challenge.
The thought of fleeing crossed Ryl’s mind. He silenced it. Backing down now would amount to nothing. Doubt now would amount to nothing. The sub-master had gone too far. Tabenville had gone too far.
Ryl needed the Osir’s anger.
He counted that the man’s pride would never allow for such insubordination, would never allow such a direct challenge to go unpunished. That he would never allow another to hand down the sentence.
Ryl anticipated the sub-master’s next move. He’d been focusing on solidifying the woodskin on the most vulnerable part of his body, his face. Osir’s knuckles were white from the force of his clenched fists. The two stood locked in position as the time slowly ticked by.
The strike came without warning from Ryl’s left, aimed for his temple. He attempted to shift more protection to that side as he moved to twist his head out of the way. The blow stuck him just above his right ear with a bone jarring force, sending stars though his eyes, knocking him to the ground. He heard the sickening crunch as the bones in Osir’s fist shattered on impact with his woodskin.
Ryl shifted the woodskin to cover his entire body as he curled into the fetal position. His rash plan had unfortunately required him to sustain what was to be undoubtedly the worst beating of his life, more time in the pillory, or potentially kill him in the process. In the chance that it was enough to stop the atrocities that were occurring in Tabenville, the risk and the cost were well worth the effort.
Osir howled with pain and fury as he landed on Ryl in a rain of fists and elbows. The woodskin mitigated some of the damage, dulled a fraction of the pain, but the sheer volume of abuse was more than Ryl could handle. He maintained consciousness through will alone. He let his body go limp, feigning unconsciousness. The blows stopped soon after.
The deluge of expletives that flowed from Osir’s mouth defied comprehension. Ryl’s left eye was swollen to the point that he couldn’t open it and his ears rang in his head from the repeated blows. He could feel the blood running down his face from several locations. His whole body was in agony. He forced himself to stay awake, to conserve what strength he could muster. Just a few moments more.