A Tribute at the Gates

by C. J. Aaron

  Aelin draped his arm around Ryl’s shoulder.

  “Hold on to the hope. One day you’ll hear the guards announce, a tribute at the gates,” Ryl said, the fire growing inside his veins. “On that day, I’ll be there to wrench the gates from their hinges and tear down the palisades stone by stone.”

  Over his shoulder, Aelin mumbled in agreement. The boys breathing fell into a regular, steady pattern as sleep took hold again. Not wanting to disturb the boy, Ryl remained by his bedside. It wasn’t long before sleep took its hold on him as well.

  The nightmare began immediately after his eyes closed.

  Ryl stood surrounded by the same semicircle of bodies. Their faces showed no emotion yet the hatred poured forth, crashing into him like waves on the shore. This time, he turned to study the faces, closing his eyes, focusing on locating the telltale signs of the tributes. One by one, he saw the orbs flicker into existence, fragile at first, growing stronger with every passing moment. He opened his eyes, scanning the impassive faces of the crowd.

  Scattered throughout, the familiar smiling faces of his friends faded into view, replacing the foreign visages. He saw the twins standing side by side. Luan was nearby holding the hand of Elora. Zed loomed over the crowd. He saw Quinlen, Odus and Rikel. One by one, the remaining faces were replaced by those of the tributes he’d known for cycles. The oppressive feeling of animosity quickly diminished with the appearance of each familiar countenance until fading entirely.

  The gate shuddered and groaned as it slowly swung open. The ear-piercing wail that accompanied it sounded different, as if it were wrought with fear, not agony. The gates slammed open with a reverberating thud that Ryl felt pulse through his body. As abruptly as it had started, the wailing ceased. This time, the infinite blackness inside the gate seethed with not one, but a multitude of clawed hands and featureless faces that pushed outward, teeth gnashing with fury.

  Sarial was one of the last of his friends to appear in the crowd, replacing the featureless form standing in the front row directly behind him. She reached her right arm to her side, guiding Aelin past her toward Ryl. He strode confidently forward, smiling up at Ryl as he moved closer to the coursing blackness inside the gate. The frenzy inside the void increased in intensity, reaching a frantic, fevered pitch.

  Aelin paused less than a pace from the writhing wall of black. He slowly rotated his head to both sides observing the whole of the inky blackness. He reached his right arm forward, pointer finger outstretched. His hand hesitated a moment within an inch of the black mass. With the gentle motion, Aelin tapped the tip of his finger to the rolling darkness.

  Spreading outward from his touch, like a ripple over water, the darkness froze. Hands, faces and the blackness surrounding them solidified like crystals of ice. Aelin turned, a satisfied grin across his face, and walked back to the crowd taking his spot beside Sarial. He reached up to grasp her waiting hand.

  Ryl felt a tingling sensation building in his core, spreading rapidly until it covered every inch of his body. He held his hands up in front of his face to examine them. They were radiating a soft golden glow. He looked down. The entirety of his body was glowing, its intensity increasing gradually. The blackness that surrounded the crowd lightened, the familiar shapes of the Cadsae became clearer. He could make out the outlines of the common houses, the Master’s House and clinic, the smithy.

  The hands and faces inside the blackness of that gate that, to this point, had remained disembodied, took shape as they were silhouetted against a lightened backdrop. Ryl recognized the shapes immediately. They were the grotesque grunts of the Outland Horde that he’d battled in the visions of Caprien.

  The tingling in his hands intensified into a searing pain. Instinctively, he brought his hands out to his sides, thrusting them forward, slamming them together in front of his body. There was a deafening clap of thunder as his hands met, both heard and felt. From his right hand, a gale of wind; from his left, a torrent of blinding white light. The light and the wind twisted into a beam that erupted from his hands, tearing through the frozen blackness, shattering it like glass, propelling it backward with the ceaseless fury of a storm.

  The exterior gate folded and shattered under the force of the onslaught, the giant doors tearing from their hinges. The blackness and the hateful seething masses that had inhabited its inky domain were washed out of the open doors, leaving only a lingering feeling of their presence.

  Ryl opened his eyes, blinking away the vision as he reoriented himself with his small room. How long he’d slept sitting against Aelin’s bed, he couldn’t be sure. The boy still slumbered peacefully behind him, arm still draped over his shoulder. Ryl was wide awake. He couldn’t have slept for long, yet he felt refreshed, every sense heightened.

  He spent a moment thinking about the dream. It was so real. He still felt the tingling in his hands, his ears rung from the deafening sound of thunder. What had Aelin done? What had he done?

  Gently, he slid out from under Aelin’s arm, stretching quietly as he crossed the narrow room to his pallet. The muffled sound of movement from the hallway signaled that his time had nearly run out.

  He opened his small pack, carefully emptying its contents onto his bed. A small water skin, his splint with the hidden supply of treatments, the Leaves and cloak of the ancient phrenic comprised the total of his worldly possessions. He unfolded the cloak, wanting to look at it one more time before packing it back up.

  The feel of the ancient fabric in his hands triggered a desire that overwhelmed his senses. The power that coursed through his veins excited at the touch of the cloak. In that instant, his mind was made up. It was time. A phrenic would once again walk in The Stocks.

  Ryl reverently slid into the cloak, feeling the surge of heat flow through his veins. He steadied his breathing, regaining control as his emotions threatened to be set free. He couldn't afford to lose control now. He carefully lashed the splint with the Leaves and hidden treatments back onto his arm. Feeling more secure with them against his skin, he repacked his water skin and shouldered the small pack. There was a quiet knock on the door. Aelin stirred in his sleep.

  “Ryl, Aelin,” Luan called softly from outside. “The guards are here. They’re gathering everyone outside.”

  Ryl’s heart began racing. He heard Luan choke back a quiet sob.

  “Ryl, it’s time to go.”

  52

  Ryl gently woke Aelin. The young boy was already sobbing by the time they reached the door. Luan had waited for them, her eyes red and puffy, her face streaked with the salty residue from previous tears. She immediately gave Ryl a tight hug.

  “What are you wearing?” she asked curiously.

  “It’s just something I came across in my travels,” Ryl said with a smile. Luan cocked her head slightly to the side, studying him for a moment.

  “Well, it looks good on you,” she said. “Come, Aelin, will you walk with me?”

  The young boy’s sob grew in intensity. Ryl knelt down before him, placing both his hand on Aelin’s shoulders, looking him directly in the eyes.

  “Aelin, please go with Luan,” Ryl said compassionately. “Remember well what we talked about last night. Hope. Never lose hope. We will meet again one day.”

  Ryl stood, jostling Aelin’s shaggy hair with his hand. The young boy threw himself into Ryl’s legs, wrapping him in an abnormally powerful squeeze. Ryl hugged him back, tears again leaked from his eyes.

  “Take care of them for me, Aelin,” Ryl whispered. The boy gave him a final squeeze in response.

  Luan took Aelin by the hand, leading him down the hallway to the stairs. Ryl followed a step behind. The main room was empty save for his friends and a solitary guard standing at the door. He immediately recognized the man. Cavlin.

  Ryl stopped in front of his group of friends, embracing each and every one of them for the last time. Cavlin cleared his throat.

  “I’m really sorry to break this up,” the guard intoned, genuinely remorseful. “Normall
y, I’d be all for making the sponsors squirm. It’s a serious bunch this cycle, and they’re getting antsy. Everyone’s waiting on you now. The rest of you head out first. Ryl, you stay with me.”

  Ryl met the eyes of each of his friends one last time. He whispered a single word with a smile.

  “Hope.”

  One by one, his friends turned and filed out of the common house.

  The door closed behind them with a thud that echoed through the empty room. Ryl closed his eyes, breathed deep, holding it in for a moment before slowly exhaling. He reached up, pulling the hood of the cloak over his head.

  “Ha,” Cavlin laughed abruptly. “They’re gonna hate that. Nicely done, Ryl.”

  He clapped Ryl on the shoulder twice.

  “I’ll follow you,” Cavlin said

  Ryl strode forward with all the confidence he could muster. He’d seen the Harvest proceedings cycle after cycle, yet this one was to be different. He stepped through the doorway of the common house into a square that bustled with activity. The tributes were packed together in a large group, flanked on all sides by rows of guards. Standing several paces in front of them, Laj and Narisi were surrounded by a second semicircle of guards. Aside from the occasional muted sob, the square was silent. The sorrow in the air was palpable.

  The upper walkway of the palisades radiated an entirely different emotion. The bleachers were brimming with nobles and commoners alike, reveling in a fair-like atmosphere. The occasional distinguishable laugh cut through the din of the spectators. Ryl searched the crowd quickly locating the three groups of sponsors. The gold and purple parties were seated next to each other, servants dressed in the colors of their Houses attending to their every need. As was with the previous day, Ryl’s sponsor, Lord Eligar, stood apart from the others. Only the lord and masked guard watched from the wall. Their eyes were trained on Ryl.

  He walked confidently into the crowd. The tributes made a small aisle for him and Cavlin as he made his way toward his fellow Harvests. He scanned the crowd, meeting eyes with every one of his friends that he could find. Mender Jeffers stood at the doorway to the clinic. He waved a final subtle farewell. From both sides of the crowd of tributes, Ryl felt several waves of raw emotion sweep over him. Heartbreak. Agony. There was no way to determine who they came from; all in the crowd were reeling from their upcoming loss.

  Ryl came to a stop alongside Laj. He flashed a smile at his friends from under the hood of his cloak. Laj and Narisi did their best to stand strong and proud with varying degrees of success. Laj looked defiantly forward, fists clenched into tight balls. Narisi was shaking. Ryl focused, sending a wave of calm. She hesitated, looking momentarily confused before rolling her shoulders back, standing taller in the face of the uncertainty.

  The hinges of the gates moaned in protest as they opened up wide enough to allow Captain Le'Dral, sub-master Millis and Lieutenant Moyan to pass through. The heavy wooden doors quickly slammed closed behind them. The sub-master and lieutenant took up positions on either side of the massive doors. The captain, the new Master of The Stocks, continued forward, stopping a few paces from where Ryl and the other Harvests stood.

  The captain turned to face the palisades, making an announcement in a voice that projected over the crowd.

  “Hello one and all,” the captain announced. “Welcome to the Harvest.”

  There was a cheer from those assembled on the wall. Missing from the captain’s voice was any hint of the flamboyant showmanship that Master Delsith reveled in. Those who came for a show were bound to be disappointed.

  “Cycle 1350 has cultivated three tributes ready for Harvest.” Captain Le’Dral waved his hand in the general direction of Ryl and the others.

  “Tribute H1350, House Sarnic,” Captain Le'Dral announced, pointing to Narisi. There was a cheer from the group wearing the gold on the wall. The rotund Lord Sarnic, gold sparkling in the early morning light, jumped to his feet with surprising speed, gloating and clapping like a child for a present.

  Narisi crumbled to her knees at the announcement. The guards behind her grabbed her under each arm, dragging her sobbing body toward the gate. The fight had left her. Her struggling ceased. All that remained was an empty shell.

  Ryl’s blood began to heat, surging through his veins. He could have the Leaves in his hands in an instant, confident they would heed his call. How many could he cut down before he was dispatched? He knew that, in the end, it would be a futile attempt and be the cause of more harm to befall the remaining tributes.

  The guards dragging the now still body of Narisi reached the gate.

  “A tribute at the gates,” the guard called out, loud enough for all to hear.

  In response, the great doors swung open, wide enough for Narisi and her escort to enter before swallowing them up behind them.

  “Tribute H1350, House Villais,” the voice of Captain Le'Dral announced as soon as the echo from the slamming gate stopped reverberating through the square.

  “Wish me luck, my brother,” Laj whispered. “I hope we meet again.”

  “As do I, my brother,” Ryl whispered in response.

  The guards grabbed Laj by the arms, propelling him forward. Unlike Narisi, he was able to maintain his feet as he was pushed forward toward the gate. As before, the call rang out.

  “A tribute at the gates,” the guard shouted.

  In an instant, the black maw of the gate had swallowed his friend whole.

  “Tribute H1351+, House Eligar. Harvested one cycle early,” Captain Le'Dral announced to the crowd.

  Ryl didn't wait to be led by his escorts. Stepping forward, he walked confidently toward the captain. The cheers from the crowd quieted as he moved purposefully toward the new Master of The Stocks. He could hear the footsteps of Cavlin and the other guard at his back.

  He stopped a pace from Captain Le'Dral. The raucous crowd now sat forward in their chairs in eager anticipation, ears straining to hear any conversation that might occur. All was silent in The Stocks.

  “Farewell, Captain,” Ryl said in a voice soft enough so that only the captain could hear. The captain looked Ryl up and down, a profound sense of curiosity and a hint of sadness written across his face.

  “You’re their master now,” Ryl continued quietly. “Please treat them with the respect they deserve.”

  “I will, Ryl,” Captain Le'Dral responded honestly.

  The silent crowd watching the proceedings with muted curiosity let out a collective gasp at the captain’s next action. The act, in and of itself, was so mundane that in virtually any other situation it wouldn’t have been worth noting. Yet in The Stocks, he felt its significance reverberate, shaking the very foundation of the palisades.

  Le'Dral extended his hand to Ryl. The two shook hands, not as master and tribute, but as men. Their eyes were locked throughout the exchange. Captain Le’Dral inclined his head slightly, releasing his grasp.

  “Guard, I'll escort the tribute from here,” Captain Le'Dral ordered the guard that accompanied Cavlin.

  Captain Le'Dral walked at Ryl's side, Cavlin a step behind as they closed the distance to the main gate. Ryl scanned the silent crowd gathered atop the palisades. Their faces were locked in expressions of shock and revulsion, too stunned to make a sound. He located Lord Eligar standing with his guard, arms crossed, watching his every step. Ryl caught a hint of what appeared to be a devious grin cross his face. The emotion was quashed immediately. The lord turned abruptly, cloak flowing out to his side as he strode out of sight.

  The gate loomed tall in front of him. He felt a chill surge through his body as recollections of the previous night’s dream inserted themselves into his mind. Flanking either side of the gate, sub-master Millis and Lieutenant Moyan stood like statues. Ryl met the eyes of Millis, a small smile curled up the corners of the sub-master’s lips. He nodded his head subtly, the lieutenant followed suit.

  They stopped a few paces out from the massive gates. After a moment, Captain Le’Dral took a step forward. For th
e third and final time of the day, the call rang out.

  “A tribute at the gates.” Captain Le’Dral’s snarling voice penetrated the silence that had fallen over The Stocks.

  With a shudder and creak, the gigantic doors sluggishly parted in the middle. Le’Dral placed his hand on Ryl’s shoulder, giving it a gentle fatherly squeeze.

  “Farewell, Ryl,” the captain whispered.

  “Thank you, sir,” Ryl said, inclining his head slightly to Captain Le’Dral.

  For a moment, the darkness between the massive doors was as thick and impenetrable as in his dream. It quickly resolved into the dimly-lit interior chamber that he’d been led through eight cycles earlier.

  Le’Dral remained where he stood as Ryl took a step forward. Cavlin followed in his wake. He paused as he reached the threshold of the gate, turning his head back, savoring the last view of what had been the only home he remembered. It was with mixed emotions that he looked back upon Cadsae for the last time. It was a despicable society that held the tributes there against their will, forcing them into a life that was generally wrought with pain, yet it was his home.

  The tributes were his family.

  He found his friends grouped together. He smiled, the feeling of love washing over him. He focused, sending out a wave of emotion to the gathered tributes.

  Hope.

  Ryl sighed, turned his head away and stepped through the gate.

  53

  The doors of the massive gate closed with a jarring finality. The thud echoed throughout the enclosed courtyard. The expansive interior between the gates was dimly lit in a wavering light by lanterns hung on both walls. Lining the exterior gate was a row of soldiers. Unlike the guards inside The Stocks, these all carried steel blades strapped to their hips.

  A small group awaited their arrival just in front of the soldiers. Cavlin placed his hand on the back of Ryl’s shoulder, gently propelling him forward. Ryl recognized three in the group. The others were unknown to him. One was a plain-clothed man, a clearly forced apologetic look on his face. The other stranger was dressed in the finery of a noble, his black shirt and pants embossed with white trim and jewels that sparkled even in the low, inconsistent light of the interior chamber. Ryl felt the hate seething out of the stranger’s every pore.