The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4)

by C. J. Aaron

  “There will be time to answer your questions later. Now, I need you to listen and listen well,” Ryl ordered. The tone of his voice, though still pleasant, was firm and commanding. “I can’t risk sending you back to the Erlyn. The army is pacified for the moment, yet I wouldn’t doubt if a contingent doesn’t test their fate tracking the tributes. Those are a lost cause. You alone, even with your strength, would likely fall to their numbers before you ever reached the safety of the woods.”

  “I can fight,” Aelin interrupted.

  “Please, let me finish,” Ryl snapped. “Hear me out before you speak. I have a lot to say and time is short. I know you can fight. You can throw yourself into battle, relying on nothing but raw emotion and power to guide you. Yet for all your strength, you’re still a boy. Even a small blade in the hands of an average fighter can seal your doom.”

  Ryl paused as he tamped down the frustration that continued to boil inside. His eyes and mindsight scanned the terrain around them. In all directions The Stocks was still. Even the pervasive watchful eyes of the mighty palisades that hemmed them in seemed abnormally pacified. He squinted his eyes to the south, focusing on the skyline. The sky above the Sea of Plenty was scattered with thin lines of clouds. Each ran parallel to the next, fading into the distance. The gently churning clouds appeared as if they mirrored the waters of the ocean below.

  He squinted as his eyes focused on a solitary disturbance rising from the ground, just to the east of the southerly track of the road. The wisp was stained dark grey, climbing into the sky before the ocean winds blew it at a sharp angle further to the north and east.

  It was smoke, that he was sure. Yet, from the distance, the evidence of a campfire would likely have vanished before being noted. The signal fires that had burned along the staggered guardhouses, evenly spaced along the palisades, had long since faded out. New tinder was assuredly in place, waiting eagerly in anticipation for the next spark.

  For the moment, those keeping watch over the tributes, over the small band of traitors to the crown, knew their prey was contained. They were confined within the depths of the forest. There was no escape other than south. The signals would wait, carefully watching for any signs of coordinated movement.

  No, the signal fires weren’t the cause. Ryl’s stomach churned as the realization set in.

  Cadsae Proper burned.

  He spurred his horse into a trot.

  “I can sense the glow. The telltale sign that you share the blood of the phrenics who’ve passed before you is clearer now than ever before,” Ryl called over his shoulder. He sent a wave of compliance to Aelin’s mount as it readily matched his expedited pace. “I long to teach you how to understand and control the rightful, true powers that have been denied to you. It is a hard lesson. The alexen that flows through your veins is a blessing, not the curse that has robbed you of so much to this point.”

  From the corner of his eye, Ryl watched the effect of the statement as it carried through Aelin’s young body. His friend inhaled, readying the deluge of spite that was likely to explode from his mouth. His shoulders tensed, shrugging upward. His face reddened, while his knuckles bleached from the force of his fists squeezing together. The momentary struggle subsided, Aelin released the breath he’d collected in a single blast of air. His body deflated; his shoulders slumped, carrying with it his posture as the acceptance of defeat set in.

  “The toxin that you’ve been forced to consume since your first day inside this prison has run its course. Your body now has access to the full power of the alexen that flows through you,” Ryl continued. “As much as I enjoy your company, and have missed it over the last cycle, if there was another way, you’d be back in the Erlyn still. The road ahead will be dangerous. I need your assurance that you will follow my command without question or hesitation. There is far more at stake here than revenge.”

  Aelin, still downtrodden, mumbled his consent.

  “And besides, Sarial will have my head if she wakes and neither you nor I are around.” Ryl grinned as he attempted to lighten the mood.

  “You need to understand that we are outcasts beyond these walls,” Ryl continued. “It is true that there are those who will support the tributes at the cost of their lives. Many more would be more than willing to see us enslaved.”

  “But why?” Aelin squeaked. His voice was hushed, timid, lacking all sense of the awe-inspiring power contained in his phrenic muscles. “Why would they fear us?”

  “Ask and you’ll likely find yourself sifting through more lies and deception than truth,” Ryl acknowledged. “It’s undeniable that some are purely evil. They would willingly seek the elixir that grants them power, that grants them superiority over their fellow man. For others, the answer isn’t so concise. For some, it is fear. Fear for themselves, fear for their families, for the ones they love. Some are content to follow blindly, as it is the way things have been done for since before their parents’ parents were born.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Aelin whimpered. His small frame bounced awkwardly as the horses worked into a steady trot.

  “Aye, my friend, it doesn’t,” Ryl commiserated. “I understand how you feel. You’re stronger now that the toxin has been flushed from your body, yet more confused. You have questions that demand answers. I know how you feel. I myself went through the very same thing less than a cycle prior. You have much to learn about the power that flows through you, about the history you’ve never dreamed possible. Do not rush to throw your life away for vengeance just yet. I assure you, there will be time to fight later. The tributes, the world will need your muscle before long.”

  Ryl focused, sending a wash of confidence over the young tribute. Aelin sat up straighter though his knowing glance reflected the understanding of what had just occurred.

  “Until you’ve been trained, emotions can be your most potent foe,” Ryl warned. “The alexen inside you has a will of its own. Though easily subdued by your own, given enough stimulus, you could easily lose control. I will admit, I’ve done so on far too many occasions, and I’ve very nearly paid the ultimate price on several.”

  Aelin fixed him with a look of incredulity. It took sheer willpower for Ryl to resist the urge to cringe. The look bordered on uncomfortable. He’d grown accustomed to it, however wearisome and disdainful it had become. As twisted as it was, he almost preferred the looks of hatred and apathy to those of awe.

  Ryl acknowledged that his skills were an anomaly even to those phrenics who possessed the gift of the alexen. They were unbelievable even to the citizens of Vim, who were raised with the knowledge of the history and truth of their comrades. To those who were unaccustomed to these truths, who knew only of magic through the words of myth and legend, Ryl must have appeared invincible.

  A mythic creature worthy of worship.

  The attitude shackled him to a similar fate as had that of the open hatred.

  In one, he was worthless. Despised for merely living. In the other, it was he who knew he was destined to fail, as he’d be unable to perform the miracle that would be demanded of him.

  In both cases, it was his humanity that would suffer.

  Though he was gifted, unknowingly, with the power of the alexen, he was, after all, just a young man forging his way in the unknowing world.

  The weight of the prophecy and of the expectations was daunting.

  Aelin opened his mouth, though the words failed to follow. Ryl sighed, his shoulders drooping a touch as the air escaped from his lungs. Perhaps it was the change in his posture, the crack in his solid, commanding attitude that spurred the words from the young tribute’s mouth.

  “Ryl, could you truly have killed them all?” he asked. His voice wavered from the nervousness.

  “Aye, Aelin. That I could,” was all Ryl could muster for a response.

  With a grim half smile, he spurred his horse forward. If Cadsae Proper burned, their time might be shorter than he anticipated. There was no more time for instruction. He choked down the momen
tary agitation at the situation Aelin had unknowingly forced upon him. Both horses increased their pace.

  With the momentary lull in conversation, Ryl’s mind turned again to Aelin’s question. The truth of the answer was far more complex than he admitted.

  Physically, he knew he could have devastated the force of ill-trained guards.

  Emotionally, he doubted if he would have survived the aftermath.

  Chapter 23

  The sun had long passed its apex as Ryl decreased his horse’s pace. The sun’s slow descent toward the western horizon cast long shadows across the ground to their left. He sent out focused waves of compliance and calm, easing the wary mount and unsteady rider at his side. Color slowly returned to Aelin’s knuckles as they loosened their iron grip on the reins. Though the young tribute’s mirth at riding on horseback was unrestrained, he still approached the feat with an air of inexperienced uncertainty.

  After the brief conversation, their pace had been rushed. There was little time for conversation. Ryl patted the neck of his horse in appreciation. The beast who had carried him thus far had done so without complaint. They had worked their horses hard, maintaining a trot or canter as the miles passed. Ryl was diligent in his study of the surroundings, yet aside from the ominous cloud of smoke, there were no additional disturbances along the path.

  They had thundered past the waystation before turning off the main road near the newly rebuilt camp at Thayers Rest. Ryl knew from his time in the fields that the river, though the rapids rumbled with speed, was shallow and easy to ford. Having destroyed the only remaining bridge before reaching Cadsae, it was the easiest location to cross.

  It was a peculiar sensation passing along the road with Aelin in tow. The oppressive feeling that was a mainstay of The Stocks was still noticeably absent, though Ryl refused to drop his guard. His eyes failed to note any hints of movement, and his phrenic mindsight never located any trace of disturbance, whether it be tribute, phrenic, or Lei Guard.

  Ryl eased off his horse at the base of a small rolling hill. The wild grasses of the fallow field grew uninhibited here. The rustling of the plants, jostled by the swirling winds from the sea, drowned out the heaving breaths of the two horses.

  “We walk from here,” Ryl called to Aelin.

  The young tribute struggled as he slid from the back of the horse with the expected grace of one not accustomed to the saddle. He massaged his legs and backside as the discomfort from the ride set in. Ryl smiled at the plight of the youngster.

  “You wanted to come along.” His voice dripped with sarcasm though his tone was pleasant. Aelin’s face vouched for his lack of acknowledgment of Ryl’s sense of humor, though his frown was the most he mustered for a complaint.

  From where they had dismounted, they were still hidden from sight of the village that lay behind the peak of the rolling hill before them. From the information Ryl had gleaned from the guard before leaving the army behind, they had left few in reserve to guard the city.

  From a tactical standpoint, the decision made little sense. Cadsae Proper was overflowing with revelers bent on basking in the festivities of the annual Harvest. To have abandoned the city to the mob of transient citizens, the majority of which were likely inebriated, defied logic. A great many of those now within the city limits likely shared the same irrational hatred of the tributes that had grown pervasive with generations of acceptance.

  Yet not all did. The spark still survived.

  Much had changed in the cycle since Ryl’s Harvest. At that time he would never have guessed the sentiment existed save for a select few. Though he had no indication of the size of the movement, or if any coordination existed amongst its unofficial members, there was no doubt that there were those who opposed the enslavement of the tributes. Opposed the throne.

  The city had been ripe with tension when he last left. After their disruption of the Harvest, panic had fallen upon the city that already teetered on the edge of revolt. If the guard had truly vacated the garrisons, who was to stop the inevitable conflicts from boiling over?

  Ryl cast his vision toward the eastern palisade that now dominated the horizon to his left. The looming stone walls had steadily grown throughout the day as they continued to make their presence felt. The palisades had been immensely imposing. They were feared during his time between their ranks. Looking at them now, he viewed them as nothing more than a weathered, cracking facade of a kingdom that was soon to fall.

  They would hold him no longer.

  They would hold the tributes no more.

  True to the guard’s testimony, they had noted no signs of activity along the walkways that stretched the peaks of the great walls. He scanned them again for signs of guards. Nothing moved within the extent of his eyesight or phrenic vision.

  His careful survey inevitably ended toward the east. The pillar of smoke that he’d watched grow throughout the day was larger than he’d ever imagined. A massive black cloud boiled into the sky, spewing ash and debris over the city as it burned out of control. Cadsae was situated in the southeastern corner of The Stocks at the intersection of the mighty palisades. From his brief, yet eventful foray into the free city outside the Pining Gates with Andr, he understood better the layout of the sprawling habitations beyond.

  Directly to the east, hidden largely in the shadows of the looming wall, was the East Ward. The gritty, working backbone of Cadsae Proper, home to the downtrodden and the outcasts of the upper echelons of society. Crime in the East Ward was rampant. Simultaneously a cause and a byproduct of the situation. Those who had nothing fought for more. Those with excess strove to expand their wealth. The true human cost of this perpetual struggle was never calculated, as it largely went unseen and therefore unnoted.

  Ryl motioned for Aelin to follow as he slowly crested the small rise. Step by step the tops of the buildings of Cadsae resolved from behind the wild grasses. First to take shape were the three identical common houses. The horseshoe-shaped arrangement of run-down buildings, capped on the closest end by the smithy and the other by the Master’s House and clinic, slowly materialized before them. Set into the backdrop of the drab southern palisade, the Pining Gates stood out ominously. More foreboding than normal. The massive inner door, with its weathered, rough dark brown wood, had provided at least some contrast in color from the grey of the stones that enveloped it.

  The fire they had set to buy them time to escape with the tributes had decimated the mighty structure. Charred chunks of wood of varying sizes were piled high on either side of the road. Twisted lengths of blackened metal jutted up from the rubble. The road leading from the gate was stained with a wide, solid black streak that crossed the village before fading as it moved to the distance. Thousands of feet tracked the soot and ash from the rubble coloring the surface of the road. Only along the edge of the mark was there any evidence of solitary action. Here and there a single boot print stood alone from the thousands that melded together around it. Its deviation was never for long. Within a matter of paces, it was swallowed up by the host that followed.

  Ryl felt a chill roll through his body as he peered into the darkened maw where the mighty inner doors once stood. The shadow was impenetrable. The darkness inside the inner chamber of the gate was an endless void. Visions of the nightmares that had plagued him for cycles flashed back into his mind.

  The darkness had been there then. It clawed at him with razor-sharp talons. It gnashed at him with daggerlike teeth. Its putrid stench was an unconscionable concoction of death, rot and decay.

  He scanned ahead with his phrenic mindsight, pushing the vision to the extent of his power. So potent had the response been to the sight, so powerful the reaction, he was surprised when no sign of the evil that haunted him was present.

  It was unnerving to see the village he’d called his home for cycles so desolate. So devoid of life. No tributes or guards moved throughout the square. Absent was the rhythmic thrumming emanating from the smithy. They plodded their way slowly through the field,
leaving a trail of trampled grasses in their wake, merging with the dirt road at the outskirts of the village.

  “It doesn’t seem right,” Aelin whispered at his side. His voice was hushed as if concerned their conversation would be overheard.

  “Aye, my friend,” Ryl whispered in return.

  Cautiously, they moved forward into the abandoned village. Ryl forged ahead, walking a few steps in front of Aelin. His left hand led the horse; his right flexed open and closed. A small gust of wind spiraled around his tattooed arm in anxious anticipation. He became keenly aware of a growing sensation in his left arm. Unlike the tingling feeling he’d experienced when near the Lei Guard or nexela, the current agitation was like the stabbing of tiny knives being thrust into his biceps. What followed was a burning sensation that radiated outward. His arm spasmed with every jolt of stinging pain.

  Risking a glance, Ryl removed his attentive gaze from his surroundings for a moment to study his arm. Without the confirmation of his eyesight, he would have expected to find blades protruding from his skin, yet his arm was unscathed. Even as he watched, the muscles twitched. Each motion sent a lancing pain down through his fingers while a similar shock coursed upward, rounding his shoulder before fading. The source of the agony seemed to spawn from the core of the sun tattooed on his arm. A searing, burning pain radiated outward as if the sun’s flares pushed out waves of heat that scorched the unprotected skin around it.

  Ryl gritted his teeth as he looped the rein around his left hand, squeezing the rope to alleviate the discomfort pulsing from above. There was no time to ponder the cause of the sudden discomfort. Elias had passed the gates a matter of hours before them. His chances of rescuing Kaep were slipping away with every passing moment.

  Though they picked up speed crossing the empty square of the village, the trip seemed to take an eternity. The unprotected openness of the expanse, though short, was daunting. Here they could easily fall prey to arrows from above, though he feared not for his own safety. The young, stubborn charge following in his wake would require attention and protection.