by C. J. Aaron
He’d participated in gatherings just like these for the last eight cycles. The tributes set for Harvest would all gather in a single common house, taking up seats together at the rear of the main room. The balance of the tribute population of The Stocks would file through in a very loose procession to say what could be their final farewells.
Ryl made his way through the small group nodding politely. The sorrowful and piteous glances were wearing on him already and the day had only just begun.
The main room of his common house was nearly full as he entered through the slightly charred door. Ryl made his way through the crowd to where he saw Laj and Narisi had already started bidding farewell to the only family they had left. They both stopped their conversations as he approached, embracing him in turn.
“Late to your own party, I see,” Laj joked as Ryl took his place beside him.
“Sorry, I had to stop in to see Sarial first,” Ryl said soberly.
“I understand,” Laj said, placing his arm on Ryl's shoulder. “She was heartbroken when she heard the news that you were to be Harvested early.”
Their conversation was interrupted as the gathered mass of tributes pushed forward to carry on their farewells. All dreaded the event as it signaled the passing of another Harvest cycle, bringing their own one cycle closer.
Time passed quickly. Soon, morning gave way to afternoon. Ryl appreciated all the tributes as extended family, yet he longed for the informal procession to come to a close. He had brief conversations with his closest friends. All would be gathered here, waiting to spend one final night together before the morrow.
A sharp knocking on the door cut through the noise in the main room. All heads turned toward the door. A pair of guards entered, visibly uncomfortable at the sheer number of tributes gathered around them.
“Tributes H1350 and H1351+ are to report to the clinic immediately for inspection,” the least nervous of the two announced.
Ryl, Laj and Narisi exchanged glances before moving slowly through the crowd toward the exit. The guards had already retreated from the interior.
The sun had moved past midday as the trio exited the common house. The pair of guards was joined by a half-dozen others forming a small circle around them as they were escorted across the square to the clinic.
Feeling the watchful eyes on him, Ryl looked up at the palisades. Mixed in among the workers, he noted three distinct groups watching the small procession from high above.
Their sponsors.
Ryl knew nothing virtually nothing of his sponsor. He studied each of the groups with morbid curiosity. Each group was dressed primarily in the colors of their individual Houses, surrounded by retainers and private guards, each colored like their masters.
Wearing black and gold that sparkled with untold riches stood a gathering of soldiers and retainers. All were fawning over the massive man standing in the middle of their small gathering. He was wearing a large triangular hat that sprouted a large golden feather. The man, opulent in both dress and stature, leaned his girth forward on the railing of the palisade, his eyes greedily tracking the tributes as they crossed the square.
At the center of the second group stood a tall slender woman, wearing in a deep purple full length dress, accented around the low neckline and sleeves with white. The purple of the dress shimmered in the light as if it were moving on its own, creating a dramatic contrast to her pale alabaster skin. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest. Though the distance was too great to make out the intricate details of her face, Ryl could clearly see the scowl written across her lips.
Her hair was arranged in a style that rose upward from her scalp, sparkling from the glut of added jewels. To her side, a guard dressed in white with accents of deep purple stool holding a large parasol over her head to block the sun. A second guard stood to the opposite side gently fanning her with a triangular-shaped fan. The remaining, armed retainers fanned out in a semicircle behind her.
The third group stood well away from the first two. Unlike the others with their host of retainers and guards, this group was only comprised of two men. The master wore a black cloak, it’s mild sheen dimly reflecting the light as it billowed gently in the afternoon breeze along with his shoulder-length, dark hair. His torso was covered with a green tunic, the color reminded Ryl of the Erlyn.
To his side stood a solitary guard, a hooded black cloak pulled up over his head, shrouding his face in darkness. From the distance, Ryl thought the hue of the shadow appeared dark green, hinting at the presence of a mask. The guard pointed in the direction of the tributes, the master nodded, then both turned away, disappearing from his view. The other groups remained hungrily watched the tributes until they disappeared into the clinic.
Mender Jeffers was waiting for them just inside the entrance to the building. He looked nervous and out of sorts. His hands were in a constant state of fidgeting, incessantly rubbing themselves together. To his side stood three men, each dressed in the traditional long, open white gown of the mender profession. All wore a band of color signifying their allegiance on their left sleeve over their biceps.
“Let’s get on with this, Mender Jeffers,” snapped the mender wearing the golden arm band. He was an older man, face withered and wrinkled by the passage of time. His thinning grey hair grew long, his face was clean-shaven, his thin lips clenched together in a deep scowl.
“Yes, sir,” Jeffers stuttered. “Guards, please escort the tribute for House Sarnic in. The rest are to wait out here until beckoned.”
Jeffers pointed toward Narisi. Ryl could see her tense as the guard grabbed her arm pulling her into the clinic, followed closely by the mender wearing the gold band. His beady eyes were already inspecting her with the same detachment one would examine a piece of fruit.
Laj and Ryl stood in uncomfortable silence as the inspection of Narisi commenced. The pair of menders spoke in hushed tones. Every now and again, their eyes would wander to the tributes. Like the first mender, both remaining men were older, their wizened faces showing the distinct signs of age. The man wearing the purple sash had short grey hair that stood in drastic contrast to his black mustache. His sunken eyes viewed the tributes venomously.
The last of the three menders, wearing the mark of the green House, appeared to be the oldest of the group. Thinning tufts of white hair clung desperately to each side of his head. His eyes were calculating as they took in scene before him. The look on his face was that of cold indifference and it chilled Ryl to the core.
Narisi reappeared with her escort, with Jeffers and the mender from House Sarnic in tow. She had tears in her eyes. The mender left the building without a word.
“Guards, please escort the tribute back to the common house,” Mender Jeffers ordered the guards. Without stopping, they pulled Narisi out of the building.
“Mender Gencep, you have seniority. Would you care to be next?” Jeffers asked, motioning to the older of the remaining menders wearing the green arm band.
“Thank you Mender Jeffers, I would,” Gencep responded in a thin, airy voice before walking into the clinic.
“Bring in the tribute for House Eligar, please,” Jeffers said as confidently as possible, pointing his finger at Ryl.
Ryl stepped forward unassisted. Two guards trailed in his wake as he followed the mender into the clinic. Jeffers had reorganized his desk back to its usual meticulous arrangement. Sarial’s bed had been moved further back into the clinic, hidden away behind a wall of partitions. He followed the menders behind the first screen.
“Let the inspection for H1351+ commence,” Mender Jeffers intoned, marking a note on a small ledger he’d retrieved from his desk. “Let it be noted that the tribute is ready one cycle early for Harvest 1350.”
Jeffers handed Ryl his treatment, followed by a small cup of water.
“Final treatment inside The Stocks has been given.” Mender Jeffers made a note in his ledger before turning to Mender Gencep, reiterating the proper dose required to keep the sickness at b
ay.
“What happened to the tribute’s arm?” Gencep asked, his monotone voice bared no emotion.
“There was an accident in the orchard while culling the recent infestation.” Jeffers stumbled through his words. “The tribute fell from a tree, a pretty ugly break. It happened the same day as the testing, so I was able to set it quickly. I’d advise the splint remain on for the next few weeks, as the tribute is still complaining of pain at the break.”
Ryl briefly caught the eyes of Jeffers, nodding his head ever so slightly in thanks. Mender Jeffers was perceptive as always. Somehow, the clever mender knew that Ryl no longer needed the splint, yet he’d acted to keep it in Ryl’s possession.
Mender Gencep replied with a grunt, pinching his eyes together slightly, pursing his lips. He reached into his gown extracting a similar leather-bound ledger to which he quickly added a note before returning it from where it came.
The physical examination that followed was embarrassing, yet thankfully brief. Ryl was made to strip, removing everything including his splint, which Mender Jeffers carefully collected as he removed it. He was poked and prodded while being surveyed by the apathetic eyes of Mender Gencep. His arm had long since healed, yet he winced in mock pain as the old mender felt his left forearm.
“Where did you get this tattoo on your chest tribute?” Gencep inquired. “I’m never seen skills the like.”
“Looks like us tributes are skilled at more than just picking weeds,” Ryl said politely. “Sir.”
Gencep paused briefly, staring at Ryl, his emotionless face not flinching a muscle. He went about finishing his examination without another word or question. The visual examination concluded, Ryl dressed as quickly as he could, graciously strapping the splint back to his arm.
“See to it that the tribute sustains no further injuries, Mender,” Gencep said forcefully in the first show of emotion from the aging mender. “Lord Eligar is already less than pleased with the damage that has been sustained to this point.”
“Yes, Mender Gencep,” Jeffers said, clearly shaken at the directness of the elder mender.
Gencep turned and stormed out of the room without further comment.
“Please escort the tribute back to the common house,” Jeffers said quietly to the guards. He caught Ryl’s eyes briefly, the discomfort was clearly visible. Mender Jeffers turned to his desk, making a show of straightening papers that were already stacked in immaculately arranged piles.
A tug on the shoulder turned Ryl around as they led him from the clinic back to the square. He walked with his head down back to the common house. The finality had sunk in.
Ryl would never again have the opportunity to talk to his friend.
51
Having said his farewell to the bulk of the tributes in The Stocks, the common house was far less crowded upon his return. The sun was falling rapidly toward the western palisade when the last mourner exited the main room. Narisi bade Ryl and Laj a tearful farewell before retiring from the common house to spend the remainder of her time in The Stocks with her closest friends. Ryl and Laj had been close for cycles, sharing many of the same friends, so the pair remained together in the common house. They joined their companions who’d waited patiently for the crowd to subside.
Without interruption, the group of friends spent the remainder of the day enjoying each other’s company for the last time. Quinlen had snuck in two small casks of his ale. While still harsh on the palate, it was a vast improvement over the first sampling he’d tried. Ryl had returned to his room presenting the remainder of the bottle of Milstead Rye to share with his friends. Quinlen had tears in his eyes after his first sip of the quality liquor.
The gentle giant Zed, had been relatively quiet, lost in thought. Ryl expected he was still internalizing the disturbing events of the morning. His eyes frequently had tears in them as they reminisced about times past.
Odus and Rikel had secreted away a small stash of dried venison. The pair worked to fill the group’s empty stomachs with a savory stew using any of the ingredients they could scrounge from the meager kitchen. The delicious meal was filling, yet a far cry from the culinary wonders Sarial could create even with a dramatic lack of resources. The missing presence of Sarial was noted by all.
Ryl finally had the opportunity to catch up with the twins and Luan. They had all been relieved to learn of his faked death. Ryl chuckled at the tale of Tash and Palon having to hold Luan back from hunting down sub-master Millis when the truth of the ruse came to light. Luan tried her best to keep a smile on her face throughout the evening, she and Ryl had grown close over the last cycle. He cared for her like a sister, a feeling he knew she reciprocated. The observant and compassionate young Elora, whether she knew previously of Luan’s pregnancy or not, was by her side constantly, doting over her every need.
Tash was his normal energetic self, joyfully entertaining the group with his stories. Palon, true to form, sat silently, observing all that happened around the room. From the time Ryl returned to the common house, young Aelin clung to Ryl’s side like a lost puppy.
Throughout the evening, the friends found the time to have private conversations. Tears were shed, laughs were shared and wishes were made. Ryl found the hope he had been clinging to like a buoy flagged and swelled with the conversations. These were his friends. These were his brothers and sisters. Would this be the last time he saw them? He had to hope it was not.
The night had grown late. Aelin had fallen asleep, his head on Ryl’s leg. Likewise, Elora slept peacefully, curled up with her head on Luan’s lap, the older tribute gently stroking her hair. Ryl looked around at the group of friends gathered before him, savoring the moment for the last time. He’d noticed the discreet yawns his friends had been stifling for hours. He cleared his throat calling the others to attention.
“It’s getting late. I can see sleep calling to more than just the little ones,” Ryl said, smiling and motioning to Aelin and Elora. “I should get some sleep, too, don’t want to be late for my own Harvest in the morning.”
There were a few chuckles with the remark.
“I just wanted to say one last thing,” Ryl said, steadying his voice as best he could. “I’ve come to love all of you over the cycles. You’ve been the most loyal friends and the only true brothers and sisters I’ve ever had. When I think about my family, it’s your faces I see in my mind.”
All eyes in the room, including Ryl’s, filled with tears.
“I’ll not say goodbye forever,” Ryl said, his voice growing stronger and more confident as he continued. He felt his blood begin to boil, the raw emotion poured out of him.
“This may be farewell for now,” he said. “But as long as there is still blood flowing in my veins, I will fight with everything I have until the day we are reunited.”
As the echo of his words finished, so too did the uncontrolled emotion. He felt his blood cool. The room stood in silence.
“I see that look again in your eyes, Ryl,” Luan said, her voice shaking as she fought off the sobs. “Everyone’s seen it now. It is the same intensity, the same burning determination you had the night you fought the sub-master. It still terrifies me, but I’ve seen the power that conviction holds. If you say it, I’m inclined to believe you.”
She rose to her feet, moving her way over to Ryl.
“And I’ll hold you to it,” she whispered into his ear.
“I’ll miss you terribly, Ryl,” Luan said, throwing her arms around him and squeezing him tight. She pulled her head back far enough to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek.
“Until we meet again, my brother,” she sobbed, placing her hand on his cheek. Her fingers slid off slowly. She turned with her head in her hands walking slowly to the stairs. Elora ran to Ryl’s side, giving him a tight hug before hurrying after Luan.
The rest of the tributes followed suit one by one. There wasn’t a dry eye left as they said their final goodbyes before the morning Harvest. Being well past curfew, the tributes from other common ho
uses had all found quarter in Ryl’s. He was leaning down to pick up Aelin, who’d fallen asleep again after his short speech, when Palon approached quietly. His normally deadpan eyes had moisture swelling in their corners. He placed his hand on Ryl’s shoulder, whispering as he leaned in close.
“It wasn’t until you spoke that I realized the light I could see in my mind was you,” Palon said softly. “This time it was blinding. This world is a better place for all of us because you’re in it. Never stop fighting, my brother.”
With a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, Palon turned, hastening after his brother.
Ryl stood motionless for a moment, lost in thought. Palon, to some extent, had now acknowledged his skills. How far would he be able to develop them on his own? He scooped up the sleeping Aelin. The young boy wrapped his arms around his neck as he carried him up the stairs to the room they shared.
Aelin stirred at the creaking of the hinges. Ryl laid him down gently on his pallet before moving to his own. A pallet he’d sleep on for the last time. He removed his splint, letting his arm breathe, storing it carefully in his pack.
“Ryl, I don’t want you to go,” the quiet sobbing voice of Aelin cut through the silence. “Why do you have to go so soon?”
Ryl crossed the room, sitting down on the floor, resting his back on the side of Aelin’s bed. In less than a cycle, the boy had seen his family murdered before his eyes, nearly killing him in the process. He was dragged screaming to The Stocks and now he’d have to watch as he lost one of his few friends to the Harvest.
“It’s not fair. None of it’s fair, Aelin,” Ryl said softly. “I wish we had more time.”
Behind him, Aelin sobbed quietly into his arm.
“Believe in what I said before,” Ryl said compassionately. “Never lose hope Aelin. The people that put you here, that put all of us here seek to steal that from us. They covet it more than any elixir. Yet if you hold firm, it is the one thing they can never have.”