The Weight of Darkness (Catalyst Book 5)

by C. J. Aaron

  His eyes took but a moment to resolve her figure. Her body was in motion, the scream still resonating from her mouth as she swung her free arm back toward Ryl. In her hand, the seed glowed a fiery red, pulsing like a coal burning in a fire. She slapped the glowing ember of a seed into his hand, releasing her hold on it and his arm in the process. Her whimpering body fell to the ground at his side.

  Emotion rocked Ryl’s body as the seed connected with the mark of the transference in his right palm. The shock waves of hope rippled through his body. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, his mind was clear.

  He knew what needed to be done.

  With little stomach for ceremony or patience, he lurched forward, digging his right fist and the seed into the loose soil.

  The reaction was imminent.

  Violent.

  Chapter 20

  The atmosphere in the chamber had grown thick, stifling, smothered by a dense shadow. As he released his hold on the seed, now buried in the tilled earth, the excited normalcy that had once resounded through the idyllic hideaway returned. The shift was dramatic, like witnessing blinding light after a period of intense dark. The air that had congealed, nearly choking them, thinned to a breathable norm.

  The effects were not limited to the external environment. Ryl’s insides reeled with tumult. The battle that had threatened to consume him ended with an emphatic exclamation that sent him toppling backward. Much like the experience of severing his connection with the forest, the change was staggering in its suddenness. The familiar, comforting warmth of the alexen was sluggish to return.

  As his hand pulled from the soil, the earth closed over itself, like skin healing over a wound. He felt the subtle ripples of energy beating a steady cadence from the illuminated patch of earth. The task he had expected to be accomplished with reverence had been hasty and urgent, yet it had been accomplished. His attention now shifted to their more immediate concerns. He wheeled around, searching for his companions.

  None had been spared the effects of the sudden, violent shifts. Andr struggled on his knees; bile dripped from his mouth as he panted to catch his breath. Paasek had sunk to the earth, where he still remained. The shoulders of the massive phrenic rose and fell with dramatic emphasis as he sucked in one voluminous breath after the other. His head had yet to rise from where it hung forward. His arms were limp at his sides.

  Ryl’s heart raced as he found Faya. The youngster was curled into a fetal position, her hands clenched together before her stomach. Tears still poured from her mud-streaked face, her body racked with the lingering remnants, aftershocks of the powerful sobs that had crippled her. He was at her side in an instant.

  With a swift, but gentle motion, he scooped the child into his arms. Faya nuzzled into his chest, though she remained curled into the tight ball he had found her in.

  “It’s over now, Faya,” he whispered as he poured a wave of comfort over the child.

  Her eyes found his, yet the emotion within was haunting. The tears stopped for a moment as she spoke.

  “It has only just begun, Ryl.” The voice that issued from her lips was distant, yet powerful.

  “And we will carry on, my friend,” he responded. “There is much yet to do. This task, though it proved far more cumbersome, has been completed. Now, let me see that hand of yours.”

  Faya offered only slight resistance as Ryl inspected the hand that she clutched against her stomach. The skin of her palm was an angry red in the shape of the seed that she’d collected. In places, it had cracked, though it was yet to weep. The faint imprint of a design was concealed beneath the burn. Thin lines of consecutive circular patterns were barely visible.

  Ryl had nothing on his person that would serve to medicinally aid the child. He surveyed the chamber, finding no plant he understood to offer any salve to the burn that she suffered. His eyes fell to the shallow pool of water that nearly encircled the soil where he’d planted the seed.

  The liquid was clear, rippling with constant motion from the thin trickle of water from above. It sparkled as the light from the sun above reflected off its ever moving surface. Leaning forward, he cupped his hands together, scooping up a measure of water. The experience was startling. He expected the liquid to be cool, yet it was imbued with a pleasant warmth. As the water sloshed in his palms, it sent tingling sensations, like tiny pinpricks of energy, through his hands. Absent from the sensation was any hint of pain. The alexen in his veins seemed to welcome the emotion, rolling through him with an accepting calm.

  “Hold out your hand, Faya.” Ryl’s request was polite, compassionate. His voice dripped with a sense of fatherly concern that startled him. It was a sensation he barely remembered, though its application was second nature. The conflicting emotions rolled through his belly. Anger at the life that had been stolen from him by selfish parents mixed with the unconditional love and support of another. Ryl, at his young age, had no true understanding of the rigors of parenthood, though he understood right from wrong. The alexen in his veins inserted their expertise, their emotion where they chose.

  They chose to comfort the scared, pained child who was one of them.

  The steady stream of tears had ceased their seemingly perpetual flow from Faya’s eyes. Tentatively, she held out her singed right hand. Ryl could feel the heat radiating from her angry, red palm as he moved his hands close to douse it with water.

  A hiss of steam sounded as the water dripped over Faya’s palm. She gasped, yet her hands didn’t withdraw. Ryl had suffered burns before, though minor; his experiences, coupled with the lifetimes of knowledge contained within the alexen, warned of the temporary sting and the pain from the application of the water. The noise that issued from her mouth was that of surprise, not discomfort. Her eyes went wide.

  “How does that feel?” Ryl quizzed as her eyes went wide.

  “Every drop spreads comfort,” she answered, her sightless eyes seemed to watch as the water dripped through the gaps between her fingers. “I no longer feel any pain.”

  A moment later, she shook off the last drops of moisture before flexing her hand experimentally. Her skin no longer glared with a bright red color. Only slightly pinker than normal, the cracks that had formed had sealed, resuming the glow expected from youth. The design, the mark that had been burned into her hand, was light, though more noticeable. Concentric circles spread out from the center of her palm. The spaces between them were filled with a simple, yet detailed design of geometric shapes. The marking looked similar to that of the center of the transferences he had received. He wondered, would some of the ability transfer to her as well?

  Ryl scooped up another handful of the restorative water. Leaning forward, he gently ladled it over the patch of earth where the seed was buried. The hungry soil absorbed the water as soon as it touched the surface. For a moment, the room seemed to flex as a wave of energy pulsed outward. The flowers that dotted the floor swayed from side to side as if moved by a gentle waft of air.

  Behind them, Paasek grumbled as he sought to regain his feet. Andr was the first to reach his side, followed closely by Ryl and Faya. The phrenic councilor nodded his thanks as he again leaned heavily on the shoulder of the mercenary.

  “How are you holding up, my friend?” Ryl inquired.

  “I’m weary.” His voice did little to disguise the sensation that Ryl understood all too well. “I long for a rest.”

  Ryl nodded his head. The pair had had little time to do so since they had departed the swelling city of Cadsae.

  “You and Andr can head back,” Ryl offered. “Faya and I will catch up. There is but one more task remaining to attend to.”

  Paasek grinned as he looked down on Ryl.

  “I’m weary, not crippled,” the phrenic grumbled, though he turned with assistance, shuffling toward the tunnel under the palisade. “What’s the purpose of the trough in the earth?”

  “The Erlyn, though she lacked the abilities to achieve this task herself, was diligent in her preparatio
n,” Ryl explained. “She’s left all the tools necessary to see to her rebirth. Do you remember the root that lies coiled in the chamber beyond the palisade?”

  Paasek viewed Ryl with a look of curiosity as he pondered the question. The light of understanding was noticeable when his addled mind grasped the meaning.

  “I see that you understand now,” Ryl added. “You controlled the stone, a task that was far out of the reach of the woods, powerful as she still may be. Her design for the earth was present, an unconscious addition to your command. Could you not feel the sense of the woods in the subterranean chamber. Though she led us there, had her designs for that which she needed accomplished, it was up to us. To you to complete.”

  Paasek nodded subtly as they walked. His eyes traced the line burrowed into the hard-packed soil.

  “We all have our parts to play,” Ryl lamented. “There is likely still more she will require. As with the alexen, her intentions will be revealed in due time.”

  With the assistance of Andr and Faya, they made quick work of completing the task that was at hand. Paasek refused to leave in advance of the others though he welcomed a seat, propped against the wall of the underground chamber beneath the tree. The Erlyn too did her part in aiding the completion of the task. They had stretched the long tendril of the root alongside the crevice carved into the floor. As Ryl fed one end into the trough, the remainder pulled in after. The soil welcomed the tendril, folding over it as if buried by unseen hands.

  The atmosphere of the chamber beneath the tree had altered since they’d entered its midst. Though the scent of earth still lingered heavily in the air, stifling heat and uncertainty were absent. The area exuded a feeling of long overdue relief.

  The Erlyn had waited more than one thousand cycles for this moment. The relief was understood.

  The sun was close to setting as they exited the hidden chamber beneath the trees. Only slender rays of the remaining sunlight pierced the canopy above. Their beams, running parallel to the ground, did little to illuminate the pathway ahead. It had been a long day for all. Paasek recovered with every step. The short break beneath the tree had worked to rejuvenate a measure of his strength. Though he walked of his own volition, his pace was sluggish and labored.

  Of all, Faya suffered the greatest effects from the exceedingly long, eventful day. Her mouth was agape with frequent yawns. With a pathway open to the chamber inside the forest, Andr collected the child, hastening ahead as Ryl plodded along with his phrenic companion. With Faya draped over his shoulders, they were soon nothing more than a shrinking silhouette against the dull glow of the mosses.

  “Hers will be a talent much sought after,” Paasek’s gravelly voice intoned, breaking the silence that enveloped their slow return to the shelter within the trees.

  “Aye. The child has been forced to endure far more than her share at such a young age,” Ryl agreed, forcing a pained smile. Such was the life of a tributes, the unawakened, in Damaris.

  “Will she return to Vim, or will she remain here?” Paasek pondered.

  In truth, it was a question that Ryl had spent little time considering. His hopes, their original plans had all revolved around the tributes moving as one unit into the reclusive wilderness and the security of Vim. Though the promise of freedom, the chance to experience the true power that was harbored within their veins, was waiting in the hidden city, he’d force no one to make the trip. Much, if not everything, had been forced upon those who suffered through much of their youth, much of their life within The Stocks.

  Though he could do little to nothing to guarantee their safety, there were likely those who would choose to remain. Some would likely seek compassionate family members. Others would seek answers, though likely, few satisfactory resolutions would be found. Though the king had fallen, there was little knowledge of the new rulership that was to replace the ancient monarch. It took little imagination to visualize the results.

  Though the respite was welcome, the changes would be short lived.

  Much would need to be done to accomplish a break of real measure.

  “Paasek, I’ve been thinking,” Ryl intoned.

  The phrenic counselor grunted as he angled his head toward Ryl. “Likely a dangerous proposition,” he responded. “I’ve watched you as you’ve walked. I can see that your mind has been anything but idle.

  Ryl shook his head, though the sentiment was spot on. There was more to do. More that would require risk, though he was loath to allow another life to be lost.

  A kingdom would not be changed without a single drop of blood.

  “Aye, that’s a correct assumption,” Ryl replied.

  He felt the alexen churn inside his veins as they were privy to the thoughts that bounced around inside his mind. They signaled their acceptance, their agreement, their willingness to participate in the plan.

  “The regent. The corrupted nobles who believe themselves next in line for the throne demanded an answer as to the fealty of The Stocks, did they not?” His question was rhetorical. The answer was understood among the pair. The missive had detailed a specific date at which the response was due. “They had requested notice in two weeks’ time, did they not?” he quizzed.

  Paasek nodded as their eyes met. A devious smile tugged up on his lips, cracking the stony facade of the elder phrenic’s face.

  “Nearly three days have been spent. If we hasten, the trip back to Cadsae should take only two. That leaves us nine days.”

  “Your math is sound, Ryl,” Paasek added. “What will you do with the time remaining?”

  “From all accounts, the roads have been blocked,” he offered. “Lord Eligar is confident, however, that the seas still offer easy passage. If I recall, it was only five days by boat to the capital city?”

  Paasek nodded in confirmation.

  “And what will you do there?” the phrenic inquired.

  “They requested an answer, did they not?” Ryl offered. His tone was harsh. Pointed.

  “An answer, they will have.”

  Chapter 21

  Darkness had descended over the Erlyn by the time Ryl and Paasek opened the pathway into the hidden clearing that sheltered their companions. Their army. The shadowy figures of a small patrol of guards, hands resting cautiously on the handles of their swords, appraised them for a moment as they exited.

  There was no mistaking their identity. The patrol carried on without a sound.

  Little activity, save for the shadows of the various patrols, interrupted the still of the night. The welcome feeling of the tributes, of the alexen, was a salve to his weary body. Though the warmth spread comfort, he realized in an instant just how tired he was. At his side, the mighty Paasek stifled a yawn with the back of his hand.

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing, my friend,” Ryl noted. “Get some rest. We’ll leave in the morning.”

  The phrenic counselor had recovered in measures as they progressed through the hidden pathway of the Erlyn. Pride dampened his words, yet on a few occasions, the solid, stony arm of the phrenic draped over Ryl’s shoulder for support. His shuffled steps grew steadier, yet they’d made poor time on their return.

  There had been few words shared between the two throughout the trek. Each was consumed with the thoughts within their heads. Ryl expected that the flurry of activity that enveloped his mind was likely mirrored by the elder phrenic. The day had been monumental for a varied host of reasons, both heart wrenching and hopeful.

  The ancient Erlyn carried a sense of peace, a hopeful wind that whistled softly through the trees. Ryl could still feel the weariness; he could see the effects written across her arboreal features. In places, branches sagged under the pressure. The undergrowth thinned; the impenetrable wall that blocked all sight and access between the trees seemed almost passable, though the feat was likely not worth the effort that would have been required. Even through all of this, the rippling effects of their actions, the mere planting of a seed was the most profound. It was a definitive action, a palp
able sensation for those who knew how to understand. The hope tingled through his feet as each step made contact with the ground. It seemed to radiate outward in ripples, as if he walked across the surface of a vast pool of water.

  Beneath the hope, the undercurrent of sorrow was still present.

  The passing of Taben, the man Ryl knew as Da’agryn, weighed heavily on his mind. His loss likely affected the great woods far more than any could understand. He had been a part of her for generations. His death, if it could truly be called that, his absence, though anticipated for ages, was still a noticeable shift in makeup of the great forest. She would mourn his company until they were reunited again.

  Ryl understood that Taben’s final departure would be mourned by few. His presence was understood by only a handful. His death had been celebrated over one thousand cycles earlier when madness drew him to plunge from the top of the statue that honored his cause.

  The statue.

  The vision he’d witnessed during the transference haunted him. The pointed finger angled clearly toward the wastes of the Outlands. Why had Taben offered such an unveiled gesture into the wastes? The possibilities weighed on him. The options toyed with his mind.

  Though the clearing was quiet owing to the late hour, there were still several figures gathered around the central fire that, at the moment, burned bright. An aroma of freshly cooked meat saturated the air, the scent luring the pair onward toward the blaze. As many slumbered, the unfiltered, raw emotions of the unawakened were subdued.

  A silhouetted figure waved from the edge of the fire’s light. Ryl needed no other cues to recognize the form.

  Andr beckoned them to approach.

  There were others who ringed the fire, though Ryl could distinguish few of their identities from a distance. The signatures of two phrenics were easily noted while, surprisingly, the muted glow of a single unawakened shined from the grouping. With every approaching step, the identity of another seemed to resolve. The garb of the Vigil was readily identifiable; their confident pose was recognizable. Dav nodded in greeting.