A Tribute at the Gates

by C. J. Aaron

  Ryl wandered through the orchard, enjoying the peaceful solitude. From his current location, the palisades were hidden from view. He pretended for a moment that he was walking in an orchard outside of The Stocks. Enjoying the leisurely stroll as a free man. The thought made him pause. It was a lurid fantasy, too enticing to be healthy.

  For a time, as a child finding his way in The Stocks, he had often daydreamed of such a life. After a while, the dreams had become a constant source of sadness. Too depressed to carry on living that way, he’d nearly abandoned the thought altogether.

  To live free from the orders of the guards. To be free to live a life of his own choosing was all he ever wanted.

  Ryl shook himself from the dangerous thought. There wasn’t enough time to be caught in the trap of daydreams. The burning fire of determination rose within him. If his Harvest was to be upcoming, he’d soon be free from The Stocks, yet not a free man. He was bound to an uncertain future. Yet he had to hope that escape was possible. If the opportunity arose, he needed to be ready.

  He had work to do. It was time to get to the Erlyn.

  37

  Ryl crossed the orchard, quickly angling his path away from the main road to stay clear of the sentries posted by sub-master Millis. The Erlyn and the orchard ran parallel to each other on a straight east-west course. The two vastly different wooded area were separated by a treeless gap spanning nearly fifty paces.

  Pausing behind the base of a tree standing in the last row of the orchard, Ryl peered out from behind its safety, observing the position of the sentries to the east. He hadn’t traveled as far to the west as he intended, yet at the present distance, he figured crossing would be a minimal risk. Both sentries were off their mounts, standing in the middle of the road, the sweeping course of their vision trained primarily to the south.

  Grass grew tall across the divide, standing to just above Ryl’s knee. Too short to hide his body if he were to crouch, Ryl grudgingly accepted the fact that to remain unseen, he would have to crawl to cover the gap. Normally, this proposition wouldn’t be a cause for dismay, yet with one broken arm, Ryl loathed the option.

  Having no other choice, Ryl slithered into the tall grass, inching forward, using his right forearm to propel himself ahead inch by frustrating inch. After what felt like an eternity squirming through the tall grass, he reached the edge of the vertical wall that was the Erlyn. He lay on his side, reaching out with his right arm and placing his hand on the moss-covered base of the tree.

  As his hand touched the cool, rough bark of the tree, Ryl felt instantly at ease. He inched the last pace forward, standing up behind the protective shelter of the tree, placing his head against its bark. He concentrated and connected with the forest, quickly scanning it for signs of distress. He was prepared for the flood of sensations yet they still sent his head reeling. It was a few moments before he had made sense of all the information.

  All was quiet within the Erlyn. He felt the warmth of the sun on the leaves high above, felt the tickle of the river that flowed through her. The road that bisected her was silent, although he could feet the light reverberations of the metal horseshoes from the sentries’ mounts as they moved slowly above the roots along her border.

  Breaking his connection, he realized again how taxing the process was. While he had labored daily to build his endurance and stamina with his other skills, he had been reticent in his practice with the Erlyn. He promised himself that he would find a way to connect with the forest on a daily basis.

  Ryl concentrated on opening a path to his cache. The woods responded immediately, a long narrow path into the gloomy depths opened its way before him. A feeling of safety enveloped him as he heard the telltale rustle of the entrance closing behind him.

  Could he extend this safety to the rest of the tributes? Was there a way to secret them here, hide them inside the deepest recesses of the woods where no one would find them? For a moment, hope surged through him. Why had he not considered this before?

  Giving thought to the option as he walked the quiet pathway, he realized the flaw in his logic. The small group in Tabenville could be hidden away easily enough, yet they were only a small fraction of the whole of the tribute population. Secreting over three hundred others to the safety of the woods was seemingly an impossible task.

  They would be seen.

  They would be hunted.

  They would bring fire and raze the Erlyn to the ground.

  He shuddered at the thought. Da’agryn said that Ryl leaving The Stocks would be their only hope. With no further explanation, his mind failed to grasp how this would come to be.

  Ryl quickly found himself in the familiar clearing that contained his cache. Everything appeared undisturbed, yet he still held his breath in anticipation as he carefully uncovered the hidden compartment. He breathed a sigh of relief as he found that everything was exactly how he’d left it.

  Removing a single member of the Leaves, Ryl examined the weapon carefully, noting the slightly discolored area, most likely worn from cycles of hands holding the exact same position. He felt reassured as he squeezed his grip around the weapon. The Leaves felt at home in his hands, more of an extension of his body than an accessory. He waved the weapon around in an uncoordinated, careless practice for a short time before realizing the futility of his effort. As comfortable as the Leaves felt in his hands, in their present state, they were nothing more than sticks.

  Sitting with his legs crossed on the grass in the center of the clearing, Ryl focused on connecting with the weapon, on activating its shimmering blade. He attempted to bring back the memory of Caprien, of the battle, to feel what he had felt. His fingers flexed their grip on the wooden shaft. Then his hand adjusted its hold involuntarily, raising the weapon up to a position parallel to the ground and held slightly out from his chest.

  An instant later, the handhold and positioning felt foreign. He let his hand sink back to the ground. Ryl lost track of how long he remained there attempting to bring back the memory, to bring out the feeling of the blades alive in his hand. The memory was there, the feeling was there, yet just like his other skills, it toyed with him just outside of his reach.

  Disheartened, Ryl returned the weapon to its hiding place, making sure the cache was securely hidden. He called upon the Erlyn to open a path back to where he had entered earlier in the day. He trudged along, lost in thought, consumed with frustration at his continued failure.

  He’d spent more time in the woods than he had anticipated. The sun was well into its descent toward the western palisade. He searched for the twins with his mind, yet found no trace of them within his reach. A thinning wisp of smoke could be seen to the south. He hurried into a crawl, making it across the grassy gap quicker than his first crossing. Without thinking, he put weight on his left arm, wincing at the intensity of the pain that coursed through him.

  Arriving back in the orchard, he rushed in the direction of the fading smoke. Searching every few steps, he was relieved to finally discover a trace of the twins, their bright-colored orbs in close proximity. Ryl slowed his steps and, in turn, his racing heart with a sigh of relief.

  Palon was the first to note his approach. He reached out to tap Tash on the arm, pointing in Ryl’s direction. Both looked relieved to see him materialize from the depths of the orchard.

  “That must have been quite the rest,” Tash joked as Ryl approached. “We were starting to worry, couldn’t find you anywhere.”

  “Sorry to worry you,” Ryl said, feigning embarrassed. “I didn’t intend to sleep that long. Thanks for giving me the day off.”

  “Well, while your legs were recovering, we got used to you not being a help anyway, so it’s really no different now.” Tash couldn’t help keep the sarcastic smile from crossing his face. “Might as well make yourself a little useful today. Come help us put out this fire. It’s time to call it a day.”

  Ryl crossed to the twins, helping them put out the day’s fire before gathering their modest supplies in th
e wagon, starting the return trek to Tabenville. The main road was empty and, with a nod from the sentries, they soon passed through the Erlyn arriving shortly after in the small village.

  The pain had returned as the remedy had worn off. Ryl was granted another vial of the potent concoction as they dropped off their supplies at the waystation for the night. He hoped that the pain reliever in combination with the exhaustion he still felt would be enough to hold the nightmares at bay.

  The activity in the square had returned to its normal pace following the events of the previous day. Lingering tendrils of the tension that had permeated the space hadn’t yet fully relinquished their hold. Ryl could see it in the shoulders of the guards, in their measured gaits, as if they were still carrying the weight.

  Before long, the trio was back within the confines of the common house, enjoying as best they could the remainder of their meager rations. Luan had been relieved to see them return and, at the same time, horrified at Ryl’s appearance. She doted over him in a way that reminded him of Sarial. Yet another infinitely kind heart that had been stolen from the world outside The Stocks.

  For what, he thought to himself.

  Ryl excused himself early, heading to the quiet serenity of his empty room. Thankfully, the effects of the pain reliever in conjunction with the exhaustion for the second time today, lulled him into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

  38

  Life in Tabenville followed the same progression as the days stretched on. Ryl spent his days in the orchards with the twins. The brothers refused to let him participate in the majority of the labor, allowing Ryl the time to continue practicing his skills away from the view of the others.

  He made the time daily to sneak off to the Erlyn, working to familiarize himself with the Leaves, though he failed to activate the shimmering green blades. As with all his other skills, he felt like he had reached a plateau with his training. There was a wall preventing him from taking it to the next step. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find his way past it.

  His injuries had recovered at an astonishing pace. The swelling and pain in his face had subsided, leaving only a small trace of bruises to mark the injury. There was still discomfort in his arm, although it was minor now compared to the start. He had removed the sling, yet thought it best to keep the splint on to help mask the speed of his recovery. Ryl was hesitant to test out its true strength for fear of aggravating the injury once more.

  There had still been no word from Mender Jeffers as to the results of the test, and there had been no further discussions with the sub-master as to his plan. Ryl tried his best to carry on his daily routine without showing the suffocating apprehension that grew with every passing sunset.

  The weekly treatments were the most aggravating, adding a finality to yet another week, as well as leaving an awful lingering taste in his mouth. His mood was especially dour as he headed out with the twins to the orchard. Sometime before their return, a rider would arrive bearing the vile poison and he would have to choke down yet another dose. Not helping was the fact that a series of storms had raced across The Stocks from the ocean over the last several days, drenching the area and again flooding the rear half of the common house.

  Ryl’s mood had soured to the point that even the lighthearted Tash had given up attempting to elicit a smile as they had walked to the orchard. They were forced to walk as close to the trees as possible to avoid the swollen waters of the river, their feet making squishing sounds as the sunk slightly into the wet earth.

  Even without Ryl’s full help, the work in the orchard had progressed quickly. The infestation had been dealt with as best they could. Now, the efforts focused on salvaging the remaining fruit. They had rigged a bucket to a rope that Ryl could loop over his shoulder, allowing him to at least participate, although his production was sluggish at best.

  The sun had moved past midday as Ryl made his way back down the first aisle of the orchard carrying his harvest. They trio had agreed to deposit their day’s labors at the end of their respective rows, collecting them on the way back to the village. He poured his bucket onto the small pile at his feet. Looking down the orchard to his right, he was embarrassed at the size of his collection compared to each of the twins.

  Shrugging his shoulders, he began making his way back into the orchard when the thunderous sound of a fast approaching rider broke the relative silence of the afternoon. Ryl dropped his bucket behind the first tree, peeking his head out, observing the sentries that still remained at the entrance to the Erlyn. Both were mounted with horses angled blocking the road, hands resting at the ready on the pommel of their batons.

  The rider reined in his horse to a stop several paces away. From Ryl’s position, he could only make out a portion of the rider’s words as the rider patted the satchel slung over his shoulder.

  “Bringing weekly treatment.”

  “Missive for Millis.”

  The plan formed instantly in his head. Ryl stepped back from the tree into the aisle, hiding himself from the view of the sentries. He scanned the orchard for the twins, relieved to find that they were still several rows away. He only had moments if his plan had any chance to be a success.

  Sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him, Ryl tore down the open aisle, trying to put as much distance between himself and the sentries as possible. Fearful of missing his window that was rapidly closing, he knew he had to take the chance.

  Stopping behind the next tree, he cautiously checked the position of the guards. Both had dismounted since allowing the rider to pass. Both had their backs turned to him tethering their horses to a tree. Ryl took a steadying breath. He needed to cross the gap without being seen. He didn’t have the time for the arduous crawl. Fifty paces separated him from the cover of the Erlyn. It was now or never. He surged forward as he exhaled.

  Forty paces. No word of alarm from the sentries.

  Thirty paces. Silence, with the exception of the rush of the wind past his ears.

  Twenty paces. A horse whinnied to his right.

  Ten paces. Ryl pushed forward with all the speed he could muster.

  His body was a mere shadow, a smudge of color as he disappeared into the woods. Once inside the Erlyn, he stopped, holding his breath as he listened. There was no sound of alarm, no report of hooves slamming into the ground. His thundering heartbeat sounded like a drum as it reverberated inside his skull.

  Ryl wasted no time connecting with the Erlyn. Singularly focused, he let the flood of information wash past him without notice. He needed to see the road.

  He needed to see the rider.

  Relief flowed through him as he felt the hammer of the horse’s hooves nearly halfway through the forest. The perpetual gloom of the woods, wet conditions and swollen river had undoubtedly slowed his progress. Still, he would be free of the forest soon.

  Ryl had never any cause to injure the forest. Never swung an axe that bit into one of its trees, never broke branches that hung too close to the road. He was reluctant to ask for what he was considering, unsure whether or not the Erlyn would comply. With the utmost urgency and necessity in his heart, he sent his command to the forest.

  Ryl held his breath, waiting for a sign. The agonizing pause stretched on.

  Intense couldn’t describe the pain that tore through him. It wasn’t focused pain, like his broken arm. It seemed to affect every inch of his body simultaneously. He opened his mouth to scream, but the pain clamped it shut, gnashing his teeth together like a vise. His eyes squeezed shut as the tears leaked down his cheeks.

  As quickly as it came, the pain was gone. Ryl was on his hands and knees, sweat and tears dripping off his body. He could still feel the Erlyn, though his gaze was unfocused. With effort, he returned to the road, frantically searching for the rider. There was no movement on the road. His plan had failed.

  He started to let his connection falter, until a weight shifted violently on the road. The churning increased. Ryl couldn’t make sense of it, until he felt the stagge
red strikes from the hooves of the horse. The movement seemed reluctant but, slowly, the horse began walking toward the village.

  Two distinct shapes remained on the road. One Ryl could tell was a large branch. He felt a wave of emotion surge through him as he felt for a connection with the fallen branch. He looked upon it as a person would observe their severed limb. The other motionless shape on the road was a body.

  The rider.

  Ryl concentrated on the shape. He could barely make out the rhythmic beat of his heart, muffled as it traveled through the ground. Ryl severed his connection immediately, ignoring the staggering effects, concentrating on opening a path to the downed man. The woods responded to his call without hesitation. Ryl stumbled at first, but quickly built up speed as he raced down the wooded alley.

  Nearing the path’s exit, Ryl slowed to a walk before stopping at the concealed exit. The woods were silent save for the gurgle of the swollen river. Cautiously, Ryl crept toward the rider, relieved to see the steady rise and fall of his chest.

  The man was lying on his back, his head resting on his left cheek, face pointed toward the woods. The water of the river lapped dangerously close to his head. The large branch from the tree lay across his right leg, which was twisted at an awkward angle. The rider was young, his face splattered with more mud than stubble, his hair matted from the slow trickle of blood escaping from the cut across his forehead.

  Ryl looked for the satchel. The strap must have snapped during his fall but, thankfully, the rider was able to maintain a hold. Carefully, he slipped the bag out from underneath the rider’s arm, pausing to watch the man, making sure the movement hadn’t woken him.

  While the injured rider remained unconscious, Ryl wasted no time rummaging through the small satchel finding what he was looking for almost immediately. He removed the leather pouch with reverent care, in disbelief that his plan had succeeded. The pouch was cinched closed with a length of thin rope. His hands shook with nervous anticipation as he carefully untied the knot.