by C. J. Aaron
“If they’re close, we can ride now.” Ramm’s voice was forceful. His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles whitening under the pressure. “We’ve faced foes stronger than they have mustered.”
Ryl turned his head, shooting the phrenic a hardened look that pleaded for pause. The accompanying focused wave of emotion cried for patience. His look softened, almost playful as he returned his attention to Faya.
“Thank you, Faya,” Ryl said. “Your counsel is welcome, always. Now get some rest.”
He tousled her hair as he made to rise. Faya wrapped her other arm around him, squeezing his neck with a tight embrace. She whispered into his ear as her head leaned against his, “I see you with her, Ryl.” Her voice was barely audible. “Don’t make her wait.”
She planted a sloppy, childish kiss on his cheek before climbing into her father’s arms. Rolen apologized profusely for the interruption as he led his daughter back to rest. All eyes watched her as she skipped along hand in hand with her father.
“Can tributes … I mean phrenics really do that?” Millis inquired skeptically.
Vox’s reply was rapid, yet concise. “Aye. It’s a well-documented trait, though one rarely revealed,” the phrenic elementalist explained. “She is untrained. The visions are likely new to her. Disjointed. Truth may be harder to distinguish from fiction.”
The explanation was meant to placate. Meant for those who only listened for words alone. Ryl could feel the emotion churning within his phrenic companion.
Inside his own body, the hope of her rescue, a hope that had nearly been extinguished, now blazed with the rage of an inferno.
Chapter 13
The impromptu council continued in earnest after Faya’s timely interruption. Ryl looked around at those assembled before the remnants of the blaze. Respect for all had been earned, not given lightly. Some he trusted as family. The missing voice among the committee was the most troublesome for his mind and heart to accept.
The tributes would again have their voices absent from discussions. Decisions would be made for them without their counsel. The fact irked him, though in the present situation it was unavoidable. Much of what they decided would impact the tributes directly.
The captain moved the conversation back to logistical concerns, though a portion of Ryl’s attention remained elsewhere.
“If we are to hold up here for any duration, food will become an immediate necessity. The crops and storeroom at Tabenville are barren. Even the orchard holds little salvageable fruit,” Le’Dral interjected. “Though small, we still have an army of mouths to feed.”
“Aye. That, the Erlyn can provide as well.” Ryl smiled, bringing his focus to the present. “Hidden among the trees there are resources aplenty. I know of one such pool stocked with fish, which will no doubt sustain us while we are here. Andr knows the way. I will instruct the phrenics.”
Though still distracted by Kaep’s abduction, Ryl’s thoughts turned to the future. The trek to Vim would be long. The woods outside The Stocks contained some resources, yet they’d need more than foraging alone would provide. Travel would be sluggish. Several weeks of hard walking would be required. Keeping to the figurative safety of the forest paths would hinder their ability to wheel any supplies. They’d need to carry the majority of what they’d need to survive.
“Food will likely be scarce once we cross the border of the Outlands.” The images of the landscape burned into Ryl’s mind were bleak. The gritty carrots were the only real sustenance they had to rely upon. “We’ll need to smoke as much fish as we can carry with us.”
“And we’ll need litters for some of the more severely injured,” Jeffers added. “It will be a difficult journey for some. Though thankfully few, I fear some of the most dire won’t survive the trip. It would be wise to fashion extras to haul supplies.”
“Supplies are a concern that I admit has been troubling me, though not exclusive in its impact. I understand the secrecy to this point, Ryl. Now is the time for full disclosure,” Le’Dral said. “Where will we go once we’ve left these walls behind?”
Ryl smiled at the captain. It was time. They’d followed along on blind faith alone to this point. Ramm moved a step closer to the fire. Light danced across the lower portion of his face, though his eyes were still lost in shadow.
“The Outland Horde are not all that survive beyond the boundary of Damaris,” the massive phrenic intoned, his voice dripping with reverence. “There is a city. It’s been a bastion of safety, the home to the phrenics of old for over one thousand cycles. Some sixteen thousand souls live in the safety behind its impenetrable walls. Free from the oppression that has shackled this kingdom. It is our home. It is Vim.”
Ramm continued his explanation, much to the wonder of those who’d yet to witness the majesty of the hidden city.
“Know that freeing the tributes was not the sole purpose of our return,” Ryl added once Ramm finished. “The Horde have been growing more troublesome as of late. Each citizen is trained in the use of weaponry from the age of youth. The number of phrenics living to help weather an attack is pitifully low.”
Le’Dral cocked his head slightly at the comment.
“Do not mistake the lack of numbers for weakness,” Ryl warned. “There is strength there that is beyond your comprehension. We aim to bring the tributes, the unawakened, to Vim. Their numbers will bolster the ranks and, once awakened, will serve to balance the tide of the Horde. The phrenics were never meant to be soldiers. We are learners, educators, artists. The Ascertaining Decree has cast the balance out of alignment. The traits that allow for war, while rare in the past, are present in almost all as of late.”
“Will they attack us as we move? Burdened with supplies and wounded, we stand little chance of defense,” Cavlin cautioned.
“There is always a chance,” Ryl admitted. “The Horde had strayed close to the forest when we left over a moon ago. They’ve been gathering in masses not seen in a millennium, yet beyond the single attack at the prophet’s tree, they still avoid the woods that line the edge of the mountain. The whisper of the Erlyn’s power still holds sway even after all the cycles. They fear it still.”
There was much left to think upon as the group broke for the evening. The tributes required tending. The guards’ shifts would be changing again soon. Jeffers helped Cavlin to his feet, assisting him as he sluggishly made his way toward the shelter under one of the massive trees. Andr, with a nod, hastened to check on his boy, Cray.
Ryl spent hours following the council tending to the needs of the tributes. He cringed as he watched the varying symptoms play out across their unconscious bodies. He recalled all too well the horrors that plagued their minds. The pain, the excruciating agony, was still fresh. He could feel it tear through the entirety of his core.
The remedy had spurred the ravages of the sickness in their withered frames, bodies racked with fever and chills. The vile complement of undigested food and bile mixed with the remnants of unprocessed medicine. The potent concoction of odors was unique in its power and terrifying complexity. Like that of the dried leaves of the blighted rose, it lingered far past its removal.
Ryl envied them not.
There were encouraging signs to be witnessed. The youngest among the tributes were displaying remarkable progress. The remedy seemingly tipped the scales within their blood, breaking the stranglehold of the debilitating sickness. With less time, the poison failed to completely overrun the alexen in their veins. It still served to choke the budding powers, yet unsurprisingly cleared readily with the introduction of the potent remedy.
Ryl had made it a point to visit all his closest friends. The twins, Tash and Palon, still guarded Luan even throughout their treatment, one protectively on either side. Ryl wrung cold water from a towel, sponging it over Tash’s burning head. His skin was hot, nearly scalding to the touch. Palon was cold, his teeth chattering as his body struggled against the tormenting chill. Ryl tucked a blanket over his quivering frame.
At present, Luan’s slumber was peaceful. Her eyelids flickered with motion. Ryl snuggled her baby close to his body. He watched in wonder as the child stared up at him, its large brown eyes investigating the newness of his environment.
“You’ve been born into strange times, little one,” Ryl whispered more to himself. The child cooed softly in reply, continuing its survey of the chamber.
Handing Luan’s baby to the guard who had been assigned as both caregiver and nanny, Ryl continued his rounds. The air in the chamber was thick with the potent scents of the blighted rose remedy and the vile after products of the sickness. He found Odus, Rikel, and Quinlen. He smiled, scanning the room, as he half expected to find an earthen jug of his friends’ powerful brew squirreled away somewhere from prying eyes.
Ryl had little trouble locating the massive frame of Zed. His sleep was tormented. His hulking frame thrashed. The struggle was so powerful that it required his assistance atop two additional guards to settle the agitated tribute. His uncontrolled strength was an inadvertent danger to himself and others within reach.
Aelin was among the youngsters showing the most promise. His eyelids struggled to open against the discharge that had settled over his lashes. Once free, they remained open for several moments though his eyes were still clouded and unfocused. His speech was rambling at best. Lucid moments had yet to settle in with any longevity. The boy was a fighter, physically strong beyond comprehension and just as powerfully stubborn.
Ryl was eager to witness the progression of his skills once his full consciousness was restored. What other innate abilities would his awakening unlock?
The final stop among the tributes was Sarial. Her temporary ward was located inside the base of the great tree that housed the bulk of the severely injured guards. Ryl was surprised by the strength of the odors here. The metallic tang of stale blood added a new, unpleasant layer to the stench of the roses’ leaves. The ground underfoot was solid, though he plodded carefully, avoiding the patches that had been stained darker by one of many uncontrolled bodily fluids.
Mender Jeffers was a near permanent fixture under the base of this tree. While requiring supervision and steady care, most of the tributes’ cases were similar. The course of their sicknesses was linear. His trained watch oversaw those most desperate in need, those primarily having been injured by blade, bludgeon, or bow.
Ryl needed no explanation. Sarial was a special case. She was special to him.
She, along with a handful of others, would weather their internal storm under his direct care and supervision.
The mender, changing the bandages on a wounded guard, acknowledged his entry, nodding as their eyes met. Jeffers’s gaze moved quickly away; his deft hands carried on though his eyes were momentarily averted from his charge.
Ryl followed the tangent of his vision to the furthermost section of the room. He smiled as he made his way toward the woman he would have considered his mother above all else. Sarial looked peaceful, at rest. Had he not known better, one could have mistaken the state for merely slumber. Though outwardly, she seemed calm, he knew the peace didn’t translate internally. Her mind and body would be tormented. The pain would be intense.
As he knelt at her side, visions of the past inserted themselves into his mind. It had been little over a cycle since he’d left. The unsettled agony over his departure was still fresh in his mind. She had been on death’s door when he was stolen away by his Harvest. Her battered body had been found in her room. The bloodied corpses of the wicked Master Delsith and his henchman were found eviscerated at the foot of her bed.
Her consciousness hadn’t fully returned for moons.
The deaths of Delsith and his lackey were attributed to a fit of jealous, drunken lust. The subsequent hasty investigation failed to illuminate any differing opinion.
Though shocking, the case was closed.
The kingdom moved on.
Ryl and a few others knew the truth.
Their blood was still fresh upon his skin. The spatter painted the walls—the individual droplets rolled sluggishly downward. The growing pools on the floor merged into a lake, leaking slowly through the gaps in the uneven floorboards.
The uncertainty swelled in him as he looked down upon her still form. He watched the shallow, yet steady rise and fall of her chest. The last he’d left her like this, he had ventured forward, blind, uncertain, without purpose. Today, his course was defined. Ryl understood the path he must tread. He was ready for the decisions he must make.
Kaep was out there.
Miles separated them.
An army separated them.
His blood boiled as the heat intensified in his veins. The alexen cried out for retribution.
He would find her.
Ryl reached down, brushing away a stray hair that had settled across her forehead. Her eyelids batted wildly for a moment. A slight tremor rolled through the length of her body. What nightmares ailed her? He studied her, focusing on the thoughts that disturbed her. The muscles on her face contracted as the disturbance within her amplified. He let wave after wave of comfort pour from his body, washing over the suffering frame.
The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention from her care. The shuffled steps advanced with patience, driven by understanding and compassion. They paused several meters away, unwilling to interrupt the silence and privacy of the occasion.
Ryl smiled. Whatever had addled her tormented mind had, at least for the moment, subsided. Her body was again calm. Still.
He rose to greet the approaching figure, unsurprised at who stood behind him. The long white gown was stained from the toils of his labor and the wear of travel. Jeffers rubbed his hands together, a combination of frayed nerves and idleness.
“They struggle against something I cannot aid. I’m powerless.” His voice was hushed. There was unveiled, raw emotion behind the words. The pained look was uncommon with the normally impassive intellectual.
“I fear for her,” he whispered.
Ryl understood his concern. He knew the same fear.
The mender, like all who had been reared in the shadows of The Stocks, no matter the station, no matter their calling, had been raised upon the same lies. The need for the treatment was absolute. It was forced upon them as a rule of law—without contestation. He had been taught that without the treatment, they would all die.
He felt overwhelming compassion for the mender. He knew Jeffers’s learned mind understood the fallacy of the statement. Ryl stood before him. He was living proof that there was life beyond the covert poison that had been forced upon the tributes. The mender’s logic, his judgments were clouded by emotion. Sarial’s suffering was an agony that was wearing him all too thin. He longed to help her, help them all, yet was powerless.
“The remedy must run its course, my friend.” Ryl spoke quietly. He pushed a focused slice of hope toward the mender.
The effects were immediate. There was a visible clearing of the mender’s countenance. Jeffers’s shoulders rose slightly while the creases of worry faded from his brow.
“Their course is rough,” Ryl admitted. “Yet they will survive it. She’ll return to you soon.”
Ryl clapped the mender on the shoulder before making his way carefully across the room.
He could ill afford to waste any more time.
Chapter 14
Ryl again savored the flavor of the fresh air as he moved swiftly across the clearing. The breeze was cleansing and crisp, a far cry from the interior chambers nestled in the tree’s roots. The contrast in temperatures was a shock to his system. Even after a short time inside, his body had acclimated to the heat. With the combined warmth from the press of bodies, meager fire, and lanterns, the heat bordered on stifling.
The air inside felt heavy and thick. The heat added to the potency of the odors. Trapped beneath the trees, it was oppressive with a density that was palpable.
Outside, the weight of the air softened. The scents of the forest overpowered the odors of rem
edy, sweat and bile. Closing his eyes, he inhaled a deep calming breath, letting the apprehension over what must be waft away with the wind. His mindsight illuminated the picture of his surroundings. Glowing clusters of pale yellow orbs grouped together in tightly formations. Packed together in cramped, close quarters, the individual forms of the ailing tributes were difficult to tell apart.
At the center of the clearing, two figures burned far brighter. Brighter than the rest combined.
Phrenics.
A small glow approached tentatively from his right. The petite steps were stealthy.
“Good evening, young Faya,” Ryl called softly.
The glowing signature paused.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” he asked with a smile as he turned his head toward the approaching child hidding in the shadows. The grin that blossomed across her face was infectious, though the look was lost in her sightless eyes.
“I couldn’t sleep. The dream came again. It troubles me, Ryl,” she whispered as she walked.
Ryl knelt, bringing his face to her level.
“When did the dreams start?” he asked.
Faya locked her hands behind her back, rocking slightly back and forth on her heels.
“They started the night we reached Tabenville,” she mumbled. “Something in the woods here speaks to me. There’s a whisper I can hear in my mind, though the words are lost.”
Ryl’s eyes rolled over the trees and the clearing that surrounded them.
“Your powers are growing, though you are still so young,” he offered. “The Erlyn is ancient, Faya. She’s seen generations of phrenics, of tributes pass through her midst. Do not be afraid of her whispers, for she will not lead you astray.”
Faya sighed though the trouble failed to subside with the release of air. The tension in her body remained. There was something she wanted to say. Something more that she feared.
“There is more to the dream,” Ryl stated. “More that you didn’t share, isn’t there?”
