The Weight of Darkness (Catalyst Book 5)

by C. J. Aaron

  Ryl collected the lantern that the fleeing guard had neglected in his haste. With his hands secured behind his back, it would have done him little good anyway. The attention of their group focused as a shout arose in the distance, echoing through the trees.

  “He moves for the wagon. Stop him.” Ryl recognized the timbre of Paelec’s voice. A moment later, the snap of a bowstring preceded the solid thunk of an arrow striking wood.

  “Through the fields. He makes for the road,” Paelec’s call sounded, reporting the progress of his measured pursuit.

  “Paelec herds him to the west,” Ryl added. “Let’s collect the wagon and move on. We’ll meet him on the road. He’ll break off the chase soon.”

  Movement through the woods proved much easier aided by the light of the lantern. The coarse shouts of Paelec had ceased by the time they exited the cover of the forest. The horses nickered in agitation as the unfamiliar party approached where they were hitched to the tree line. A single wave of calming emotion from Ryl placated the beasts.

  Andr went to work unhitching the horses from the tree while Ryl climbed easily to the driver’s seat. An arrow was embedded into the backrest of the bench. The arrow pulled free with little effort. To his surprise, Cray clambered up the other side. The unawakened tribute paused as he reached the seat.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked. His voice was feeble, yet pleading. He knew the young man had something on his mind.

  “Of course not, the road will be long, and the company will be welcome,” Ryl answered with a genuine smile.

  Cray nodded his thanks as he seated himself on the wooden bench to Ryl’s right. Andr, having finished turning the horses, swung himself up, joining their companions in the rear of the wagon. With a massive blast of air from their nostrils, they lurched forward as Ryl spurred the pair of massive drays onward. The wagon groaned and jumped as they picked up speed over the uneven field.

  “Is there something on your mind, Cray?” Ryl broke the silence that accompanied the apprehensive tension he felt clouding the air between them.

  Cray sighed, though it was a moment before he responded.

  “I mean no offense, Ryl, but was it wise to let that man go?” Cray inquired. “What’s to stop him from circling back and freeing his companions? We would have another force closer on our heels. If he makes the army, we may find ourselves overwhelmed by cavalry before we can see to our objectives.”

  Ryl listened intently as the tribute spoke. His questions were valid; there was no animosity hidden behind the words, only genuine curiosity and concern. He nodded his head as he replied.

  “Never be afraid to ask the question,” he answered. “As for the reaction of the soldier, I have no way of telling what decision he will come to. I only aimed to steer him in the right direction. There are no certainties in this life. That man may be just as likely to trip on the road. Keep in mind his hands were still bound behind his back; there would be little to arrest his fall. He may spend the rest of the night unconscious in a ditch.”

  Cray’s eyes went from curious to confused as he listened to Ryl speak.

  “Whether he makes it to the army, in the end, it matters not,” Ryl added. “My hope is that he does. He’ll have hours to practice his tale, have hours for it to grow, for the impending perceived atrocities of Lord Kagran to ferment until they are unconscionable. The houses are divided. Any doubt created by the words he will deliver will make the disparity shine clear. The greed has run unchecked for ages. They despise the unapproved consolidation of power, for the entirety of the elixir now remains under the banner of the new regent.”

  Ryl slowed the horses again, steadying himself as they bumped over the remaining divot before gaining the road. The surface was relatively smooth, though nothing more than hard-packed dirt mixed in with smaller stones. He turned the wagon to the east, though he pulled gently on the reins, grinding their progress to a halt.

  “They fear for the survival of their very houses, yet many have likely disregarded the prospect of their own mortality,” Ryl continued, turning his body toward Cray. “Though the army consists of mainly common citizens, blissfully ignorant to the machinations of those whose perceived station is far above them, the officers will likely have ties to the nobility. Threat of their houses’ impending doom will divide them further. If that happens, the forces that aim to harass Le’Dral will be lessened. The walls of The Stocks will hold; it’s the battle from within that will prove the most challenging.”

  Cray frowned at the response. Ryl knew the question, while the information was important, was not the one that caused the agitation he saw clearly written across his face.

  “If there is more, ask,” he offered.

  Cay exhaled a deep breath, steeling himself before the questions rolled off his tongue.

  “When did you learn about your powers?” The questions came at first like a trickle, yet Ryl knew they were only the beginning of the flood to come. “When did you realize that the blood in your veins was anything but a curse that had condemned you to a life barely worth living?”

  “It was only a matter of moons after Elias’s Harvest that the truth came to light,” Ryl answered. The mention of Elias’s name sent a stab of pain or remorse through his body. He had mourned the loss of his friend cycles earlier. Though he’d always feel the wound of his passing, he’d come to peace with it. The pain of having lost him a second time was crushing. The finality, the certainty, was heartbreaking.

  There would be no reunion this time.

  He paused, struggling to work through the lance of devastation that lanced through his body. Hope had been renewed after the dissolution of the army of the Horde before the gates, yet his heart ached with a potent pain of supreme loss that would linger. Elias was not the only one he’d lost that day. Ryl’s eyes fell to his right arm, to the tattooed handprint. Even looking at the delicate outline of her fingers brought a sense of relief, though he hesitated to make contact with it. The power that flowed from the touch was exhilarating. His body swelled with energy; the atmosphere that surrounded him crackled with electricity. In those moments, he could feel her presence as if she was connected to him.

  The return to normality in the wake of the sensation left him feeling empty. In the moments following, the world was dull, cold.

  “Da’agryn. The Prophet. Taben. Whichever name you choose to call him, he was the architect of my instruction,” Ryl continued, relieved to further remove his mind from the lingering thoughts of loss. “It was he who opened my eyes to the world that had been removed from the collective memory of the kingdom. He connected me with the Erlyn. It was only a day before my fight with submaster Osir.”

  “Is that when you learned to control the pathways of the woods?” Cray inquired. Whether intentional or not, his voice was flavored with a hint of anger.

  “It was, though as you’re learning now, it is a task that comes at a great cost to your strength and energy,” he answered.

  “Then why couldn’t you bring us with you?” Cray blurted out. The anger was no longer veiled.

  The source of the agitation was clear.

  “Why could you not instruct us as to the gifts that we possessed?” he continued. Ryl felt the eyes of the others watching as Cray’s voice rose. “You hid from us the keys to our salvation.”

  Ryl waited for Cray to stop. The young unawakened breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling in dramatic fashion with every breath. Waves of unmitigated anger and frustration pulsed from his core.

  “That is a reality I’ve struggled with every moment since I learned,” Ryl offered. In the moment, he chose to let his words be the salve to his friend’s anger, not a forced emotion. “There was much uncertainty. The world that surrounded me had changed in an instant, so too had the inner workings of my own body. The orders from Da’agryn, however, were emphatic, the logic undeniable.”

  “You could have secreted us away in the woods.” Cray bubbled with anger. Though his voice was low, it
dripped with animosity. “You could have saved us from a cycle of torture.”

  “I understand, yet I want you to think about it for a moment,” Ryl replied with a gentle voice. He showed no hint of aggravation, though the alexen streamed through his veins with the rebuke. “And where would you have taken them? How would you have moved every tribute into the safety of the woods unseen? What horrors would be inflicted upon those inadvertently left behind?”

  He paused for a moment, not expecting an answer.

  “There are far too many eyes for all to have overlooked the stream of bodies into the forest,” Ryl continued, though it was with effort that he resisted the unintentional urge of his voice to rise with the agitation. “They would have come with torches. They would have razed the ancient woods to the ground.”

  Cray’s head lowered as he took in the words Ryl relayed.

  “If you had managed to escape, you’d find no safe harbor,” he continued, though his voice softened. “None had anything considered competent martial training. You would have had no knowledge of the hidden city, nor the means of finding it. Think beyond yourselves. Think of the future. If The Stocks were compromised, what would they do with the next child who tested positive for the presence of alexen?”

  Cray’s lips quivered.

  “They’d have locked them away, that is what,” Ryl answered his own question. “The next generation of tributes would likely never see the sun. They’d survive an imprisonment far beyond the tortures you’ve endured. If I’ve learned anything, it is that the alexen has a plan. All will be revealed when the time is right, not a moment sooner. As painful as it is to hear, to bear, we were all where we needed to be.”

  Ryl reached over, letting his hand rest on his friend’s shoulder.

  “There is little that has been fair in either of our lives.” Ryl brought his head in close, whispering to Cray. “This is our best chance to change the future of the phrenics. Not so that we can replace one rule with another. So that no family must be forced to weigh the odds between their lives and the life of their child. There will always be greed. There will always be evil. It must never be allowed to ferment as it has for countless cycles. The natural order, the balance must be restored.”

  Cray slowly raised his head, his eyes locking onto Ryl’s. Inside their depths swirled a depth of emotion, of knowledge, of understanding that raged with the fires of an inferno. He felt the pulse of warmth from the tribute as he regained control over his running emotions.

  “I will not doubt, Ryl,” Cray offered; his voice steeled with determination. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t swear off doubt, for it can be a powerful ally once you learn to listen,” he replied.

  Ryl’s gaze traveled to the east. He squinted as he strained his eyes to see the flickering torches along the walled estates. His mindsight tracked the glowing signature of Paelec approaching from the west.

  “When I left, I swore I would set the tributes free,” he intoned. “My focus was on those inside the walls. Yet there are more who languish who require our attention.

  “They will be free as well.”

  Chapter 30

  They hadn’t traveled far before they were greeted by the deep violet hues that began spreading across the eastern horizon. The guards who stood cloaked in the shadows of the ornately wrought gates became more visible, growing in numbers the closer they came to the capital city. Though they regarded the wagon with suspicion, none made any attempt to contact or detain them as they rumbled past.

  The utter blackness of the night sky shifted slowly as they progressed further to the east. Veins of deep purple pushed upward as the skyline along the horizon lightened with every passing mile. From his seat at the head of the wagon, Ryl scanned the landscape that surrounded the road as more details began to shine through the depth of the night. His eyes settled for a moment at a time on each new sculpture, hedge or outbuilding that poked through the darkness. His mindsight, undeterred by the absence of light, probed ahead unabated.

  The initial estates were small in comparison to the sprawling complexes that loomed further down the road. Though they stretched over several acres, they were dwarfed by the grandeur of those to come.

  After their conversation, Ryl had convinced Cray to move to the rear of the wagon to find rest. There would be a long ride ahead of them; they’d all need time to recover before they reached their destination. Though they travelled in the open, Cavlin assured them that even in the daylight, a wagonload of citizens would spark little curiosity. For the moment, they could rest in shifts with little fear of molestation from the kingdom’s forces.

  Andr climbed to the seat beside him, greeting him with a nod as he eased onto the hard wooden bench. The mercenary’s gaze traveled to the low walls of the first estate that bordered the northern section of the road. Ryl followed the tangent of his gaze, briefly inspecting the property as they rolled past. There was a strange look on his face, as if he searched for something in the darkness of the estate.

  A strange feeling rolled through his body as he studied the poorly illuminated home in the distance. It was a mix of longing and revulsion, though a sensation that he couldn’t identify tugged at his emotions. When compared to his childhood home, the property was a palace fit for a king. With its distance from the capital city, it was likely the habitation of some lesser noble, who clung desperately to the thin thread of power and superiority that stemmed from the relative proximity to the throne.

  The walls were covered in most places with a patchy selection of vines, though the placement spoke to willful neglect, not purposeful design or decor. Few torches or lanterns burned aside from along the front of the house. There was only the sign of a single guard manning the simple gate to the property.

  Ryl wrinkled his nose as he completed his cursory inspection of the property. There was nothing special about the design, nothing creative, showing little workmanship. Though his eyes couldn’t resolve much of the property inside, he doubted there was much to gawk at. This was just a large house behind a poorly maintained wall. The resting place of a noble family desperately trying to maintain the last shred of influence.

  The word noble sounded like a curse.

  Nobility in the true sense of the word was dead. Those who clung to the title did so by the virtue of gold and wealth. They claimed their superiority over others by the sheer fact that they had more. These were among the ones who would trade their fortune to attain the Blessing of the King. To them, the human cost was of little concern.

  Ryl shook off the feeling as his gaze returned to the road before him. The hard-packed surface was relatively smooth here, wide enough for a pair of carts to pass comfortably side by side. The dirt track mixed with more cobble as it progressed, though it disappeared into the gloom of the remaining night to the east.

  “Will this be your first time in the capital, Ryl?” Andr asked without preamble. “If I’m not mistaken, Ilisot is not unusually far to the north.”

  Ryl thought for a moment. The memories of his childhood were sparse, now intertwined with the experiences of countless others who’d lived and died long before his time. For a few moments, he struggled to separate moments of his childhood from those of the others. Aside from various trips with his family to the market in Pernell, they had never strayed far from their tiny homestead. His stomach churned as the memories brought back the sickening feelings he’d fought to repress for cycles. His first true journey of any real measure had been inside the sweltering, wretched confines of the black wagon that stole him from his childhood.

  Though the sting of the betrayal would never fully heal, he’d found a strange measure of peace with the event. Internally, he’d bear the scars for eternity. The suffering endured for cycles had led him to determine the truth of the history that had been erased from the collective memory of the kingdom. It had opened the doors to the power that flowed through him.

  The cost had been sickening, yet it had led him to today.

  The fire
s of change had begun to spread. Though they were still subdued by the darkness that tainted the souls of the lords, they desperately crept forward, igniting every scrap of hope. With every action he added more fuel to the flame. Little more than a cycle ago, it had been nothing more than a feeble spark. A desperate hope that prolonged the survival of a scared and scarred child. It now teetered on the edge of uncontrollability, held back by the tenuous push of the impenetrable wall of darkness.

  Yet, stubborn as it was, the wall had shown signs of cracking. He would fan the flames until they burned beyond any hope of control. This time, he was not alone. The force, though miniature in number when compared to the armies of the kingdom, possessed a strength that had been unseen for generations. It spread as a rumor after he’d stormed The Stocks, disrupting the Harvest. It was spoken of with awe and fear after they’d defended the gates from the press of the Horde.

  There would be no denying what was to come.

  “I can see the capital clearly in my mind. I’ve never stepped foot within its boundaries. The images that spring to life are centuries old. Much has likely changed over the cycles,” Ryl answered. “How long has it been since you were here?”

  The mercenary’s eyes wandered as he pondered the question. Ryl watched as the muscles on his face contracted and relaxed as they played through the myriad of memories that were contained inside the walls of the capital city.

  “Not since I joined the service of the guard,” he replied, though his gaze remained distant. “I’m sure some of the haunts I used to know still exist, yet I hate to admit, I burned many of the bridges I had then. The life of a mercenary isn’t conducive to longevity, as you understand. I doubt many I once knew are even still alive.”

  “There are none like Breila here in the capital, then?” Ryl inquired.

  Andr turned his head, meeting Ryl’s gaze. There was an uncommon depth of emotion to his hardened orbs.