The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4)

by C. J. Aaron

  A crushing wave of emotion froze him in his tracks. Elias spun Kaep around to his left side, slipping a short sword from his belt, holding it to her neck. His devilish grin was sickening. Ryl didn’t doubt that he’d slit her throat in an instant. He struggled against the restraint as he felt his body start to crumple under the weight. The burning in his left arm crescendoed.

  Kaep stared at him, her eyes filled with the moisture of overflowing emotion. She chewed on the cloth gag in her mouth, though the effort faded as the paralyzing hopelessness crushed her will as well. Slender lines of black snaked up from her neck, slithering onto her cheeks.

  The pair of Lei Guard from the rear of the wagon rounded to the side after Kaep’s unceremonious dismount. They separated, standing on opposite sides of the door. Each bowed at the waist, holding an arm outstretched to the passenger within. Ryl stifled a gasp at the appearance of the hands that extended from the depths of the carriage.

  The skin was pale, cracked and dry. It looked more like tanned leather than flesh. The hands were marred with dark splotches that stretched up to where the skin hid beneath the golden trappings that covered it. The man who followed was trapped in the most opulent clothing Ryl could have imagined. The jewels he’d seen on display, flaunted carelessly by the lords at the Harvest, were nothing more than pebbles compared to the extravagant adornments on the king’s clothing.

  King Lunek the Third shuffled from the carriage, hardly the image of royal grace. His motions were sluggish, painstakingly planned. He seemed to hold his posture in check, arching his back with effort to hide the inherent slouch of ages.

  Every inch of the king’s clothing seemed to sparkle as the fire from the sun scintillated off gold leaf, precious stones, and shimmering fabric. The sheer grandeur made Ryl’s stomach turn. The excess was flaunted to such a degree that the image made him long for the simple beauty of Vim.

  Adorned with finery the likes of which few had likely witnessed, the rest of the man seemed extraordinarily plain. His body was thin, though the flowing robes seemed to make his presence swell beyond its natural state. The features of his face were stern. His rigid jawline and high, sharp cheekbones had likely one day commanded obedience. Today the pale, splotchy skin shielded the features that had eroded with the ages. A diminutive figure, cloaked in all black, slipped out from behind the king, taking its place behind him, hidden behind the flowing robes of the ruler of Damaris.

  The finery of the king presented a fine show for those inclined to greed and the thirst for power. Every inch of the man seemed to be steeped in riches. Lords and ladies would kill willingly for the opportunity to collect but a miniscule share of his scraps.

  Ryl’s eyes weren’t fooled by the image. The king was but a man, ancient, dressed in finery that did little to disguise the truth. His age was undeniable. So too was the black essence that oozed from his very soul. To the naked eye, he was one who commanded respect. To the phrenic, he was a man. Tainted and ruthless.

  Controlled by the dark power of greed.

  The one who truly held the strings lurked unseen in his shadow. There was no shielding his presence. Even without the screams of the alexen that coursed through his veins, his identity was indisputable.

  Leiroth.

  “At last, the tribute has come before the king to beg for forgiveness.” The voice of the king was still powerful. “Your insults will not go unpunished.”

  Ryl felt the undeniable tingle of forced emotion as the king attempted to add an air of dominance to his words. The sensation was sickly, dark, and unnatural. It wafted over Ryl, leaving an aftertaste of disgust. The effort, though masterful for a man born without the gift of alexen, fell flat against the phrenic. Lunek snarled as his effort broached no sign of response.

  Ryl had no fear of the king.

  The pain in Ryl’s arm swelled. He felt the burning as the power in his veins pleaded for release. Though feeble, the light around his arms swelled.

  “I beg nothing of you,” Ryl growled. “You are a mere puppet. A twisted old man, too foolish to see that you control nothing. Even the life that flows within you is a lie.”

  The king’s face flashed with anger before blanching, reverting to a calculating coldness. Ryl could feel the lingering tendril of Leiroth’s actions, his persuasion as the king spoke again.

  “Such a fight for one so ill-versed in the nature of the world,” Lunek growled. “I’ve seen ages pass before you were even a glimmer of hope in your parents’ eyes. They cast you aside for the abomination you truly are.”

  Ryl felt the heat of anger rush through his veins. The Leaves in his hands flashed to life. The serrated green blades were fragile, burning with nothing more than a flicker of their usual strength. A wave of fear and hopelessness crashed over him, forcing him to his knees. The mythical weapons fell from his hands, bouncing harmlessly on the stones of the courtyard.

  “You have failed. Those who trusted you were duped by your tricks into believing they held a sliver of a chance at survival,” Lunek cursed. “There is no hope. The tributes will be rounded up, they will be hunted without mercy, for in their stead, I will have you. I will have those you brought from the depths of the Outlands.”

  The king took a single small shuffled step forward.

  “The demons know where they hide,” he sneered. “We will wipe them from existence. They do not even exist in myths. There is nothing left for history to forget.”

  Ryl struggled against the oppression that held him down. The burning glow of his arm begged for release, yet he couldn’t muster the strength. Not that it would have amounted to much in the face of such overwhelming odds.

  Leiroth stepped from behind the king. He moved with a wraithlike gait, silent, yet every step seemed to radiate darkness that covered the ground around him. He paused between the king and Elias.

  Leiroth stood a head shorter than the ancient lord. He stepped in close, whispering in the king’s ear for a moment before taking his subservient place by his side. He crossed his arms behind his back. Though Ryl couldn’t see his eyes, the wicked smirk on his face was chilling.

  “Their fate matters not,” the king said. “Your blood will suffice. From what I understand, it is quite a potent blend.”

  “I’ll never give you what you want.” Ryl struggled to form the words through the oppressive hatred that choked him.

  The king chuckled. It was a raspy, weak murmur that seemed to rattle the entirety of his withered frame.

  “And yet, I’ll have it nonetheless.” He glared. “What you see before you is the dawn of a new age. With the strength of the Horde in my hands, we will ensure our peace for generations to come.”

  “Peace?” Ryl growled as he interrupted. “The demons massacred a city. You marched through the blood of your own citizens to get here.”

  The king fixed him with a glare that would have withered a normal man.

  “Yet it was you who led them here,” he hissed. “It was you who brought them to the gates. The blood is on your hands. They obey my command and mine alone.”

  Ryl opened his mouth to argue. Leiroth clenched his hands into fists, pummeling him with a sensation so desperate he struggled to breathe through the pain.

  “I grow weary of this episode,” the king muttered. “Finish this, Leiroth.”

  With a snarl, the king spun on his heel before shuffling back to the carriage. The Lei Guard assisted his weakened frame into the wagon.

  Ryl was helpless. Even with the combined strength of the phrenics, there was little respite from the overwhelming power of the thousands of Lei Guard who filled the courtyard. He feared Leiroth alone would have been more than they could have handled. The Horde were simple; they fought with fear and numbers alone. For their part, they forced no emotions from their darkened bodies. Their power was in their strength. In the inherent fear of the unknown.

  Somehow, through the ages, Leiroth had twisted that power. Forged it not only into a power that could be harnessed but into a power that coul
d control the lustful hearts of men.

  Leiroth watched the king enter the wagon before turning his gaze back to Ryl.

  “I feel the power that has grown in you.” His voice was soft, merely a whisper, yet it hissed around him like the whipping winds of a storm. “Harvested a cycle early, if I recall. Come with me, and I’ll let them go free.”

  He waved his arm toward the palisade.

  Ryl’s heart surged with a momentary glimmer of hope, though he knew it to be merely a ruse.

  “You know as well as I who the Horde truly obeys. I can see it in your eyes.” He paused; his icy glare focused on Ryl. He could feel the chill sweep through his body. The alexen steamed through his veins in protest.

  “If not them, then perhaps her.” He grinned. “Your friend did well to bring her to me. You’ve abandoned them all to seek the girl. The foolishness of youth. The curse of emotions. You have failed them all. They have nowhere to hide. They’ll never make the safety of their mountain. Not without you. You’ve cursed them all to death.”

  The cackle that rumbled from his body was sickening. A racking rumble that spewed notes of twisted joy across the courtyard.

  “The decision is yours to make,” Leiroth added. He nodded to Elias at his side.

  Ryl watched as his friend tightened his hold on Kaep’s cloak, pulling her head back with his left arm. The blade in his right hand indented the skin of her neck. A soft whimper choked from beneath her gag. A tear streaked from her eye, tracing a line down her cheek. Elias’s mouth was curled into a snarl of vicious mirth.

  It was then that Ryl finally met eyes with the shell of what was once his friend.

  For a moment their eyes locked. The hatred that remained was crushing. Ryl felt the last of his willpower evaporate under the withering look. The Elias he remembered had eyes so full of wonder. Of joy. Of hope.

  Ryl’s strength was failing. Faltering under the oppressive hatred of Leiroth and his guard. He had so little left to give. His voice was silenced under the force of the emotion. The noise failed as his lips mouthed the soundless words.

  “Elias, please,” he begged.

  The darkness of doubt clouded his mind. The seeds of fear took root, blossoming as they grew.

  He had failed them.

  Failed them all.

  There was no hope.

  Ryl was left to communicate only through his eyes. They were riddled with agony and fear. Tears welled in their corners. His look swelled with the guilt of words left unsaid. Promises left unfulfilled. They pleaded with Elias. Begged for the brother he was to return. His eyes fell on the exposed skin of Elias’s neck. The brand, still red after all the cycles, poked out from underneath the collar of his shirt.

  H1349.

  The words he’d heard his friend utter time and time again returned with a jolt.

  Ryl closed his eyes, struggling against the weight of the assault that muted his voice. The alexen in his veins surged with agitated fury. His voice registered as little more than a whisper. Though feeble, he forced out the words.

  “They can never take away who you are.” He fought to form cohesive sounds. “One day, you’ll get the chance to show them.”

  Elias’s glare was locked onto his fragile gaze the moment his eyes reopened. The venom was potent. Undisturbed. Ryl felt a sinking feeling as his willpower shattered.

  The weight of Elias’s glare broke for a moment as he blinked his eyes. The look that greeted him when he opened them once more was startling. Gone was the hatred, the malice, the wickedness. The look was haunting. Ryl had seen it before.

  It was an image forever burned into his mind.

  Elias’s Harvest.

  Ryl watched in horror as the corner of Elias’s mouth curled upward into a crooked smile.

  Elias winked as he mouthed the words that made Ryl’s heart skip a beat.

  “Farewell, my brother.”

  The tip of Elias’s blade dropped from Kaep’s neck. With speed that defied convention, Elias spun the blade in his hand into a reverse grip. He screamed as he slammed the blade backward. The point buried into the chest of Leiroth before punching through his back with a spray of blood.

  In the same motion, he thrust Kaep forward with his opposite arm.

  Leiroth’s mouth snapped open as his eyes widened in shock and pain. The devastating pressure from the torment of his emotional assault snuffed out. The crushing weight of the Lei Guard’s assault faltered as the collective noise of thousands of blades freeing their sheaths roared through the square. As one, the line of Lei Guard converged on his position.

  Freed from the burden of Leiroth’s assault, Ryl dipped into the speed that had begged for release. Time slowed to a crawl. He scooped up a single dormant blade with his right hand as he exploded forward. The force threatened to tear his body in two. The blade flashed to life, this time burning with the collective rage of the alexen in his veins.

  The brilliant sun, speckled with the scattered black dots, throbbed with increasing waves of pain. The white glow swelled around his arm as he charged forward.

  Though their motions were slowed, the Lei Guard moved with a speed shockingly similar to his phrenic companions. Kaep struggled to remove the gag from her mouth as she stumbled forward. The ring of blackened warriors closed in. Elias twisted the sword before wrenching the blade from Leiroth’s chest. A river of blood rushed from the devastating wound to the ancient phrenic’s body. He flipped his grip on the blade, spinning to meet the incoming charge. Ryl screamed as he was smothered, trampled by the raging bodies.

  A sensation of anger, unfiltered and raw, washed over him as the Lei Guard lost control of their emotions. There was no denying a potent undertone of panic that registered amongst the sensation. While the unrestrained anger engulfed him from all sides, the panic was localized, coming from where Leiroth had vanished, swallowed by the wall of his approaching guards.

  The glow from the sun tattooed on his arm was blinding. He stumbled as he felt the alexen rush to his left arm. As they moved, they left a disturbing chill, an empty weariness. His extremities felt hollow and lifeless.

  Kaep was only meters away. The Lei Guard only steps behind. Ryl screamed as his legs gave out from under him. He lurched forward. Kaep caught him as he toppled over. Her hands were still bound at the wrists. She braced his falling body against her forearms. Her palms rested on either side of his face, covering the protruding scars from the brands that marked his neck.

  The jolt of power, of unfiltered electricity, was overwhelming. It surged through every fiber in his body, covering him from head to toe. All external sensations ceased as the ripple of energy crackled through him.

  The Lei Guard froze in their places. The light from his arm blossomed into a blinding white. For an instant, the glow banished the impenetrable shadows that darkened the upper half of their faces. Their eyes showed an emotion that contradicted the vengeful snarls that marred their lips.

  Theirs was a look of profound longing. Excitement.

  The white light enveloped all.

  Chapter 51

  Ryl found himself surrounded by nothing but white. His body still crackled with electricity, yet he could move nothing save his eyes. He had no concept of direction, though his insides churned with the perception of speed.

  External sensation started with his toes. He felt the cool, smooth texture of the stone where he stood. Measure by measure the sensation returned to his limbs. He felt the weight of his body press upon his legs, the uncertainty flutter in his stomach. His heart raced. His vision cleared to an otherworldly scene.

  The white nothingness that surrounded him faded, twisting and swirling away like mist parted by the breeze. To his left, the green, thriving foothills were heavily laden with growth. The rolling hills swelled into a massive range that teemed with color.

  With life.

  To his right, drab, gnarled vegetation dotted the terrain. Sporadic withered bushes grew blood-red flowers as they clung desperately to the fractured, jag
ged mountains behind. The terrain was bland.

  Lifeless.

  Ryl knew the vision. The nexus to where the awakening had deposited him. He felt the warmth of the glowing golden sun high in the azure sky to his left radiate on his cheek. His other side felt the chill as the black orb leached the color and life from the bleached sky.

  His gaze traveled to the horizon. The tall, wild grasses of the landscape swayed gently from side to side, pushed by an unseen breeze. Though the air around him was still, his phrenic cloak flapped gently to the side. Ryl rotated slowly, his vision admiring the beauty of the diametric landscape.

  He stopped abruptly. An extrinsic sensation gave away the appearance of another. It was a welcome warmth he’d grown to long for.

  A single figure stood before him.

  The long flowing phrenic cloak rippled at the hands of an unfelt wind. The lithe figure stood confidently. Strands of hair, burning brilliant amber as they captured the light of the sun, blew across her exposed face.

  Kaep smiled, though the expression was pained.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” she whispered. Her voice resonated through his body.

  “I’m sorry, Kaep. I couldn’t reach you,” Ryl blurted out.

  She laughed, a single demure chuckle. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath.

  “Do not lay the blame on yourself, as I assign none of it to you,” she cooed. “The Erlyn understood. She gifted me the strength to accomplish what must be done. Of the forces at play and of your role.”

  Ryl cocked his head slightly, eying her with a look of confusion.

  “And of mine.” Her voice contained infinite sadness.

  “What of our roles, Kaep?” Ryl inquired.

  She stepped closer, placing her left hand on his arm where the intricate leaves of the vines covered his skin. Her touch was exhilarating. Even though his body coursed with energy, the contact sent a jolt of power flowing through him.