The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4)

by C. J. Aaron

  Halfway across the square, the winds blowing from the sea changed directions, altering the course of the smoke from the burning city outside. The acrid air stung his nostrils. The sky darkened overhead as if a heavy storm cloud blotted out the sun. The sky rained a caustic mixture of ashes and embers. The ambient temperature, though not stifling, increased noticeably. Aelin’s horse stomped in protest.

  “Let’s get the horses inside the gate,” Ryl muttered as they moved steadily forward. He released the meager gout of wind he’d formed around his right arm in a wide, yet gentle arc over the horse at his side, washing clean the flecks of ash that had accumulated from the fire. The jolt of energy as his fingers closed around the worn wooden handle of the Leaves erased the festering sense of dread that had swelled since his vision spied the yawning black mouth of the gate.

  A brilliant green light flashed out before them as the legendary weapon came to life in his hand. The infinite blackness resisted. The darkness within the enclosure refused to give a glimpse of the interior it disguised. For a moment, the solid darkness resisted the encroaching light. Ryl pointed the flaming weapon at the darkened maw, steadying himself in anticipation. Without warning, the overpowering glow of the blade shattered the blackened defense. As the first rays of green light stretched into the interior, Ryl breathed a momentary sigh of relief.

  The sudden, uncontrollable fear that had threatened to paralyze him had been as powerful as it was sudden. He’d faced legions of the Horde. Willingly stared down an army of thousands, yet it was the darkness beneath the stone ceiling of a gatehouse that threatened to overwhelm his strength.

  As the apprehension faded, the discomfort that had been riddling his left arm vanished as quickly as it had come. For a moment, he issued an internal curse at the mysteriousness of the alexen that ran freely through his veins. Though he had found mastery of the skills they provided, he was ever the slave to their cunning ambition. He delved his memory for the answer to the sudden pain, yet unsurprisingly he found none. The alexen, to an extent, still possessed a will of their own. Though he scorned the decision, he accepted that they would allow him to understand the cause in due time.

  The complete lack of comprehension was still alarming. His first experiences with the tingling sensation in his arm had blossomed during the battle with the Lei Guard atop the bridge. The answers he sought then were shrouded in intrigue. They ran from his internal prying, far fleeter of foot than he could hope to catch. The questions he probed with now were met with a chilling cold defeat. They shattered as does pottery cast against a stone wall.

  For the moment, the sensation had passed. There would undoubtedly be time to ponder the meaning and seek understanding later. Now was not the time.

  Ryl focused again on the shadowed mouth of the Pining Gate. The ground was soggy as they approached. The stale odor of the recently burnt wood seemed to rise from the earth as their feet squished in the wet soil beneath. They paused at the edge of the darkness. There was no call needed to open the gate formed by the sheer blackness that stood before them. The glow of the green blade illuminated little inside the interior. Though it was faint, it was enough to tell that it was deserted. The only recess in the hollowed-out structure was the door along the left wall leading into the belly of the palisade and the barracks beyond.

  Ryl looked to his right, meeting eyes with Aelin. The look on the youngster’s face was conflicted. His eyes twinkled with the light of hope, yet his lips were drawn into a pensive scowl. Thin lines extended from the corners of his eyes as he squinted to make sense of the shadowed scene before him.

  “I’ve seen this before, Ryl,” Aelin whispered. His admission caught Ryl off guard.

  “The shadows inside this gate have haunted my dreams since I was delivered to this cursed place,” Aelin admitted. “I know that the free city lies beyond that gate, yet the darkness inside still feels too thick to pass.”

  Ryl grinned as Aelin related his dreams. It was all too familiar to him.

  “Aye, my friend, though I don’t rightly understand. I admit that I dread it now nearly as much as I did then,” Ryl acknowledged. “For cycles, the hatred that lived inside the blackness of that opening haunted my dreams.”

  He turned his eyes again to the interior of the gate, surveying the opening again.

  “The night before my Harvest, those dreams changed,” Ryl whispered. “Perhaps it was the powers I’d discovered hidden within or the truth of the history that had been denied for ages. The hope that had sustained my existence for so long seemed to pale in comparison to one thing. I could stand against the darkness. I could overcome the hatred that had held me down though I couldn’t defeat it. Do you know who it was that came to my aid?”

  Aelin’s eyes were wide. He shook his head slowly, though his anticipation was evident.

  “It was you,” Ryl answered. “It was you I saw. You strode forward with fearless, unwavering confidence. Though the claws from the darkness within slashed at you, you stepped onward still, undaunted.”

  “Did they get me?” Aelin squeaked.

  “No, they fled from you. Those who didn’t froze in your presence,” Ryl answered. “There was no escaping the torrent of power that flowed from within me then.”

  Aelin nodded subtly.

  “Then it’s good I came. There’s a reason for my being here aside from my thirst for revenge.” Aelin spoke plainly. “Something in the forest called to me. It whispered to me. A voice I could hear and feel, even while the effects of the remedy held me down. It urged me to leave. Its voice was worried. Anxious. It was scared. I had to come.”

  Ryl couldn’t argue with the statement. The Erlyn was ancient beyond all records. The description had all the trappings of her call. He recalled the uncontrollable urges, the pull that moved his body against his own accord. Where the Erlyn willed him, he had followed. She’d yet to lead him astray.

  “Shall we?” Ryl said as he waved the flaming blade toward the opening.

  “Aye.” Aelin grinned as he stepped across the threshold of darkness.

  Chapter 24

  The first step into the darkness of the gate was a disconcerting feeling. Much like stepping through the hidden entrance to Vim, it wreaked havoc on the senses. He admired the strength and mental fortitude of Aelin, who walked through without regard.

  The confidence was admirable. Ryl was convinced it would be a fight to ensure that the boy survived long enough to learn the valuable lesson of patience. He chuckled to himself. On his present tract, it would be a valuable lesson for him to truly embody as well.

  The bright green flames of the Leaves splashed along the stone walls of the interior of the gate. The light flickered as the flames rolled over the serrated edges of the blade. Once inside the gate, the area was clear from debris, and the ground again lost the sponginess that had plagued the area outside.

  Evidence of the inferno that had decimated the once mighty gate were present nonetheless. Black scars charred the walls closest to the entrance, leaving a stain on the precipice of the ceiling. The air inside was thick. A thin cloud of smoke still hung in the air, having been sheltered from the cleansing gusts of the winds outside.

  The survey of the room was brief, as aside from several unlit sconces on the walls and the solitary door, there was little of note. The remaining section of gate, the thick wooden and metal barrier that separated them from Cadsae Proper, had been left closed. It was secured with a massive wooden bar, similar to the one Ramm had destroyed on the opposite side.

  Ryl walked to the gate, placing his hand upon the rough wooden panel. He moved his ear close to the wood, listening for sounds of activity outside. The expected noises of conversation, the heavy step of thick boots were entirely absent. The slight groan of the doors as a gust of wind pressed upon their surface was the only hint of motion.

  “Aelin, I could use your strength. Give me a hand with this bar.” Ryl waved the young tribute over to his position.

  As fearless as he had been c
rossing the threshold into the darkness, the confidence had waned once he reached the interior of the chamber. Aelin’s wide eyes darted from shadow to shadow, regularly returning to the door in the eastern wall of the room.

  Since the vicious slaying of his family during his apprehension, this would be the farthest he’d been from his home in The Stocks. The hesitance was short-lived as he snapped out of his daze, striding to assist Ryl. With the pair working the chains, the massive bar moved easily into the slot cut into the wall to their right.

  Ryl called Aelin to a stop as the bar neared the intersection of the two mighty doors.

  “Hold here,” Ryl ordered. “My cloak and tattoos will likely be known by all at this point, and your clothing and brands will give you away. Though I don’t fear the interaction, we might be wise to seek disguise. Follow me.”

  Ryl stowed the magical weapon before tying his horse off to the end of the drawbar, assisting Aelin as he did the same. The darkness seemed less thick than it had moments before. The insidious feeling had departed along with the steady pain in his left arm. He subconsciously rubbed the skin with his opposite hand. Though the stabbing discomfort had subsided, the area in the center of his arm still throbbed.

  The door to the interior pathway had been left slightly ajar. Ryl stalked toward it, attempting to peer through the crack. A slight orange flicker spoke to a torch burning somewhere down the narrow stone pathway.

  Ryl paused a step from the doorway. His ears were alert, tuning into any hint of sound from within. He looked back over his left shoulder, nodding to Aelin, who walked cautiously a step behind. Using the dull end of the dormant blade, he pushed the door open. The heavy metal hinges squealed as it swung ajar. Though the hinges voiced their protest, the thick wooden door moved with unexpected ease. The panel slammed into the stone wall behind it with a sharp crack that thundered through the interior.

  Ryl sighed as he shook his head. Their approach, through quiet, had been less than stealthy. The openness of the square, the only approach to the Pining Gates, necessitated the action while the sun was still in the sky above. He was loath to give up hours waiting for the sun to set and the cover of darkness. If any had missed their approach, their presence had been officially announced.

  With the door open, Ryl peered carefully into the entrance to the tunnel. He poked his head cautiously around the corner for an instant before retracting it again. From what he could recall from his entrance to The Stocks close to a decade past, he knew the tunnel stretched into the darkness for several meters before turning to the right. The distant torch, set just off the corner of the hallway illuminated little. The light burned low; its flame sputtered.

  Something about the scene felt off to Ryl. The alexen in his blood echoed his concern as it swirled anxiously through his veins. He turned his head to the left to warn Aelin. The youngster stepped from behind his body, squaring his frame into the opening of the doorway.

  Before he could voice his concern, Ryl noted a shadow blot out the flickering light of the lantern in the periphery of his vision. The twang of bowstrings releasing their deadly cargo echoed through the narrow corridor.

  Ryl screamed in protest as he snapped time to a stop. Aelin’s face was frozen into a look of confusion as Ryl dove toward him. The tribute grunted as he was tackled to the ground. Together, they spilled across the hard-packed dirt floor. Ryl released his hold on the speed as soon as they were clear of the doorway.

  The sharp report and snapping of wood sounded from the opposite wall. Ryl turned his head to witness the final remnants of the sparks as the arrowheads shattered against the stone. He sprang to his feet as the thrumming of heavy boots on the ground rumbled from the interior of the tunnel.

  Without wasting a moment, Ryl slammed the dormant weapon into the holster on his back. With his left hand he grabbed a hold of the heavy wooden door he’d opened only moments before. A spinning gale brewed around his right arm. The footsteps from the interior of the halfway grew louder as they approached. The bloodthirsty cries of the assailants grew more vicious as they neared.

  Ryl peered into the open doorway, rapidly surveying the approaching assault before ducking away again. A group of half a dozen soldiers raced down the narrow hallway, running in single file due to the cramped confines. He gauged their approach, waiting until the last moment to leap into the opening, slamming the door shut with all the might he could muster. As the door reached the terminus of its swing, he hammered it with a focused blast of wind from his right arm.

  The door closed with a jarring finality as the first of the guards reached the exit to the tunnel. There was an agonized cry from the lead attacker as the heavy wooden panel smashed back into his face. The sickening slap of wood against skin was mixed with the snapping of bone and the splatter of blood. The gale that rushed from Ryl’s hand connected with the door square in the center of its planks as it impacted the helpless guard. A knife of wind, stronger than he had expected, tore the door into pieces. Jagged splinters of wood erupted into the hallway beyond. The limp body of the lead attacker was tossed helplessly into his comrades as the wind sent them careening back down the hall.

  Thankfully for some, his lifeless body provided some measure of protection from the lethal shards of wood that penetrated any flesh they encountered. The hapless soldier was dead before his body hit the ground.

  The wavering flame of the torch in the distance snuffed out at the assault of the wind.

  The hallway plunged into darkness and chaos.

  Ryl wrenched both Leaves from their holsters, igniting the translucent, burning blades. The attacking soldiers, caught off guard by the unexpected ferocity of his counter, were still reeling as he entered the tunnel. The alexen burned within his veins, yet it was the unfamiliar call for blood that whispered in his ear that held sway over his actions.

  Moments later, Ryl regained full control of his senses. He was standing at the corner of the converging pathways. The Leaves in his hands still burned with a shimmering green fury that distorted the air around them with their heat. One blade was angled toward the exit to the gate, the other toward the interior of the barracks he knew waited beyond. He was panting, his chest heaving to catch his breath.

  To his left, none approached from the barracks. To his right, none moved.

  The scene to his right was horrific. The light of the Leaves illuminated the expanse of the confined hallway in varying hues of green. No color was needed to highlight the devastation he had wrought. The walls, ceiling and floor all glistened with a shimmering wetness from the blood sprayed across the interior. Most of the bodies that lay on the floor remained still, locked in the earliest stages of rigor. Some, however, still twitched uncontrollably as their bodies fought to cling to the last shreds of life that remained. Dismembered arms, heads and disemboweled bodies were strewn across the narrow hallway. The entire expanse was clogged with the clutter of death and blood.

  He spun around as incoming footsteps drew his attention. His glowing blades leveled for an attack.

  The thought raged through his mind.

  Who is next to die?

  Chapter 25

  The panic was overwhelming as Kaep struggled to open her eyes. She sensed the world around her moving at speed, yet her vision was still black. The wind whipped the hair across her face, pulling it back to her right. She struggled to scream, yet the slick fabric wedged tightly in her jaws reduced the effort to little more than a squeak.

  The fear took hold steadily.

  She reached out with her mindsight, searching for the familiar signatures that had surrounded her the entirety of her young life.

  The comforting, golden glowing signatures, the telltale signs of the phrenics, were nowhere to be seen.

  At her side, a terrifying wisp of black remained. Not yet dark enough to signify the Horde, yet unnatural and terrifying, nonetheless.

  As her senses returned to full strength, her predicament fully dawned on her. The blindfold over her eyes was coarse. She
could feel the fabric chafing her skin. The gag in her mouth was slick from an extended duration of being held in place. She tried pulling it free with her hands, only to find them tied securely behind her back.

  Her body was jostled rudely with every movement. It only took a moment to realize she was on horseback, though her body lay prone as it bounced along a cobblestone street. The clack of metal horseshoes on the hard stones rang in her ears as the horse moved at a steady trot.

  Where was she? She could see nothing. The air was filled with a peculiar stench, one of salt and spoiled fish.

  How long had she been unconscious? The pain receptors in her body seemed to fire in unison. She ached all over. Her legs, chest and stomach felt swollen and bruised from the unknown distance on horseback. Yet even through the pain, an overwhelming weakness prevailed. Her body felt drained. The alexen in her blood was sluggish, moving with a wearisome pace.

  She scanned the area again, desperate for signs of familiarity.

  Though only the shadow at her side registered in her vision, something felt amiss. The area ahead was ringed with an unnatural blackness that defied explanation. She’d been in the presence of the Horde on numerous occasions, yet the darkness that lurked in the distance seemed to move with them, keeping itself, and its identity further at bay and indistinguishable.

  Kaep wriggled her body, attempting to free any of the bonds that held her fast. She wrung her hands together and kicked her feet to no avail. The ropes chafed her ankles and wrists but held fast. She bit down on the fabric in her mouth, desperate to gnaw through the cloth.

  A heavy hand pressed down on her back, robbing her of her breath as it squeezed her against the horse’s back. A wave of unexpected fear washed over her. Similar to the emotions she was accustomed to portraying, this was less refined, hammering into her with a weight that was startling.