Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2)

by C. J. Aaron

  Ryl moaned as a fit of convulsions racked his body, collapsing forward to the ground. Andr was at his side in moments, propping him back up in the crevice and crossing his arms, resting his hands on the makeshift bracers that he still wore. He was shaking with chills from the fever that plagued his addled body. Andr pulled the hood up over his head for warmth.

  He looked over the young man who'd only just recently tasted true freedom. His mind travelled back to the day he'd first aided him on the road outside Tabenville. It had been later that same day that Ryl stood his ground against the wicked sub-master.

  He had guessed at Ryl's desperate plan. Andr cringed in horror as it unfolded. He watched as the boy was beaten senseless. Here was a tribute, just past boyhood, with no chance to succeed in a fight, taking a stand for what was right. No longer cowering behind the safety of inaction and reluctant acceptance; there was something different, something magnetic in Ryl's open defiance. Andr had been drawn toward him. There was something about the look in his eyes. For a moment, they swirled with the raging fire of an inferno. In that instant, Ryl loomed larger than life.

  Something had snapped in his mind at that point. One final drop of revulsion was all it took to overwhelm the levy that was holding back his complacency. In his self-loathing disgust, he'd thrown caution to the wind. He silently assisted a boy who he knew by nothing more than a number to bring an end to the vile sub-master, Osir. A man who had grown fat feasting on the pain, suffering and fear he instilled upon his helpless charges.

  And for what crimes did they suffer?

  They were punished for the crime of being born. For the crime of inheriting blood that none could predict or understand.

  Andr risked a final glance at Ryl.

  “Be thankful you don’t wake,” he lamented. “I made a promise to deliver you safely, and I intend to keep it. While there is still blood flowing through my veins, I will fight for you. Rest well, my friend.”

  Andr stood and turned defiantly, his sword singing its high-pitched melody as it slid from its sheath.

  He heard the snap of the twig from the darkness on the opposite side of the fire’s flickering ring of illumination. He needed no light to tell him what was approaching.

  Andr took a step forward, removing a long stick he'd left burning on the edge of the fire. Sparks dripped from its flaming tip, hissing as they struck the ground. Sword in one hand, a torch in the other, he waved the flame side to side; illuminating the mass of the horde stealthily creeping forward.

  He counted six abominations, with skin so dark red it looked nearly black. Light reflected off their razor-sharp claws as they flexed in anticipation. Their mouths were frozen in a hideous snarl revealing pointed teeth dripping with putrid saliva. Their stench fell over the area, choking out the fresh air, overpowering the acrid smell of the fire.

  For the moment their cruel dark eyes were fully intent upon him. Ryl was of no immediate concern to them as he stood to raise no opposition. He was ripe for the slaughter. They had one obstacle left.

  It was exhausted, outnumbered, awaiting its death before their eyes.

  Andr’s head and eyes darted from side to side readying for the assault. He flexed his grip on the short sword in his right hand. Would they come at once? If not, who would lead the attack? His sword would taste their flesh before he would succumb.

  There was a sudden motion to his side. A clawed hand ripped through the air to his left, wrenching the torch from his hand, tossing it to the ground at its back. The flaming branch hit the ground in a shower of sparks—setting a small clump of dry, stunted bushes ablaze. The wood flared into flame, for a moment illuminating the clearing with the intensity of the sudden fire.

  Andr’s heart sunk at the sight.

  The six Horde that he could see were only the front line of the assault. A few paces behind them, just outside the light of his fire stood a second ring of Horde, waiting for their feast to begin with eager anticipation. He guessed that there was an additional thirty there. The odds were hopeless. In his current position, he could never outlast an assault of that strength.

  They’d been toying with him for days. The probing assault, the commotion throughout the nights. They’d been wearing him down. They knew Ryl was a burden; that it was only a matter of time before his exhaustion was so great that he’d stand no chance of rallying any tangible defense.

  Andr felt the familiar stubborn intensity grow inside him. It’d been cycles since he’d felt the adrenaline of a near hopeless situation. He’d survived in the past. He was determined not to fail now.

  “You want me? I’m here,” he screamed defiantly into the night, backing slowly away from the fire, bringing him closer to the rock. Closer to Ryl.

  “Come and get me,” he growled.

  The front line inched closer in a coordinated step.

  Andr lowered the point of his blade to the ground. His head dipped slightly in defeat.

  A solitary attacker surged forward from his front, it’s high pitched, blood-curdling shriek splitting the quiet of the night. Andr was prepared for the advance, his submission feigned. Even still, the speed of its attack nearly caught him off guard. The lanky beast moved at a terrifying pace no human could sustain. He whipped his blade up as he stepped to the side. He flexed his arm against the resistance as the sharpened metal passed through flesh and bone, splitting the attacking Horde nearly in twain from groin to shoulder. The lifeless body tumbled backward, spilling across the fire. Half of the small blaze was scattered and extinguished with a sizzle and snap of sticks as blood and skin connected with the burning logs. The smell of the burning flesh filled the air with a sickening potency.

  The remaining Horde exploded into a frenzy with the death of their companion. A cacophony of wails, screams and howls tore through the air. They stomped their clawed feet on the ground, held their heads high as they screamed into the night. One after another, the members forming the outer ring materialized from the darkness as they inched closer to the lone mercenary. The flickering light of the fire danced across their near black bodies. Their claws slashed through the air in mimicked attacks. The clacking sound of their serrated teeth snapping together drowned out the quiet crackle of the fire.

  Unnoticed, a mild breeze pushed through the thickened air of the glade.

  Chapter 13

  Ryl was a prisoner inside his tormented body. Gone were the cognitive abilities to communicate, to move, to control the flow of thoughts in his mind. The capacity to function without assistance had abandoned him with the rapid progression of the sickness. Any motions his body made were involuntary reactions to whatever stimuli triggered the response. Although he faded into and out of consciousness, his mind was acutely aware of one thing.

  Pain.

  The agony was unending.

  He burned with the fire of the fevers. His body convulsed uncontrollably as the chills raged on. He could feel the dizzying sensation of the world spinning around him. The hallucinations riddled his exhausted mind with their demented and distorted realities. His phrenic mindsight randomly scanned his surrounding providing information he failed to comprehend.

  Momentary interludes of clarity had interrupted the distortion of his mind over the last several hours. He had sensed the profound feelings of anxiety and of panic coming from outside of his body. The sensation elicited memories of the Erlyn. Before it was again overtaken by pain, images of the ancient forest flashed through his mind before. There was a message hidden within the images. A secret concealed amongst the sensations, yet his besieged mind failed to grasp the meaning.

  Another glimpse of clarity. His mindsight provided a startling view of his surroundings that flashed into his mind. Consecutive arcs of black shapes converged into one mass as they slowly closed on his position. He could hear their screams ringing through his mind. A strangely familiar feeling hit him with remarkable force. The overwhelming hatred that emanated from the very core of the Horde crashed into him like a wave.

  Like wa
ter scouring dirt off the face of a rock, the staggering hatred that surged over him washed the confusion that clouded his thoughts. The sensations familiar to those of the Erlyn were still pulsing into his mind. He felt a light breeze brush an errant strand of hair across his face. The gentle wind carried a voice, shouting in desperation that echoed in his ears:

  “You must act, Ryl. Without you, he will die. Without him, so too will you.”

  His mind was still a jumbled mass of random thoughts, emotions, questions. His confusion was vast.

  Yet, that voice was shockingly familiar.

  Da’agryn.

  The wind carrying the whisper stilled once more. An unmistakable stench of death and rot settled over him like a blanket as the moving air ceased. The odor burned an immediately recognizable face onto the oppressive hatred that assailed him.

  His eyes shot open.

  A single, momentary glance through blurred eyes painted a picture that fanned the tiny flame burning inside veins. Andr stood a pace away, sword in hand, defiant in the face of insurmountable odds.

  His friend was about to die.

  The stranger who’d risked his own life, his own freedom, to save him stood confidently in the face of his own demise. Ryl was moments away from watching him be torn to shreds at the hands of the physical incarnation of hatred.

  His mind triggered a memory, a painful recounting of the past. The vision of Eroh and Kailid—the phrenic heroes who sacrificed their lives so that Caprien could be rescued—assailed him with gut wrenching force.

  Ryl’s arms were crossed, folded across his stomach. His hands clenched into fists; his fingernails digging into his palms. His skin tingled as it came in contact with the uncovered shaft of the Leaves.

  An all too familiar heat thundered through his veins. The inferno burned white hot until it raged through every inch of his body.

  There was no dizziness that would unsettle his feet. There was no pain that would hold him down.

  Ryl opened his mouth to scream in defiance.

  Chapter 14

  The roar that tore through the stunted glade shocked Ryl with its volume, ferocity and complexity. His voice felt meek. His was but a whisper compared to the torrent of deafening cries that issued from his open mouth. The scream sounded like a chorus of unfamiliar voices. Wails of agony, mixed with cries of rage-filled bloodlust, joined by others that shouted in outright defiance.

  He saw Andr’s body tense in alarm. The Horde froze in their approach, heads inclined to the sky, teeth gnashing at the air. The sound berated them as it spiraled throughout the clearing. Ryl surged to his feet, hands simultaneously closing on the ends of the Leaves, ripping them from their sheaths.

  The clearing exploded with a brilliant green light as the shimmering blades flashed to life. Andr angled his head to the side, tracking the motion and the sound. HIs eyes went wide at the sight of the figure standing behind him.

  All movement in the clearing had ceased, pausing for what seemed like an eternity. Ryl stood motionless a step away from the face of the rock. His arms hung menacingly at his sides; the shimmering green Leaves angled down toward the ground. Glowing tendrils of green fire curled off the blades. The air surrounding them distorted in rippling waves of heat.

  The hood was still pulled down low obscuring his eyes; the bottom of his cloak billowed gently to his side although the air was still.

  Ryl inclined his head, meeting the astonished gaze of Andr. A subtle, crooked smile tugged up on his lips. His eyes were blazing with the intensity of a storm. The reflection of the shimmering blades made them appear as if they were alight with a smoldering green fire.

  “This is not your night to die, my friend,” Ryl whispered.

  He could feel his body start to protest the effort; he knew there was little time left. Before Andr could respond, Ryl closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. The air in the clearing seemed to rush toward him as he drew his breath. For a long moment he held it in. As he exhaled, he set free the power flowing inside his veins.

  The world slowed to a crawl.

  Ryl exploded forward. Andr's eyes widened in shock, moving to follow his motion, yet far too slow to track his fleeting form. To Ryl's surprise, the Horde were less affected by the skill, yet their motions were still hopelessly sluggish. The fire of determination burning inside his veins was too hot. Their speed and numbers would count for nothing.

  He darted past Andr; circling around the right side of the fire, his cloak flowing out behind him. For a moment it blocked the light of the flames from the churning Horde that now surged forward as one.

  Three quarters of his way around the blaze, Ryl twisted his body toward the approaching Horde. As he spun he called on the soulborne wind with his right hand. He felt the stream of air blossom around his arm.

  As his cloak snapped back around his body the light of the fire was revealed. Like the shutters of a window being suddenly thrust open to the blinding light of the sun, the light flashed into the eyes of the advancing Horde. He used his momentum to amplify the force of the soulborne wind that had been building in his right arm. Ryl released the swirling torrent of air, following the flash of light with a blinding arc of burning sticks, smoldering embers, dirt and ash.

  The force of his spin threw him into a controlled roll to the right. His path remained on target, lancing straight into the end of the lacerated line of the Horde. The Leaves severed the legs of the first pair it met. The demons in the front row were helpless to defend; their hands still clawing at their faces as the burning embers melted into their rotten smelling skin.

  Ryl burst through the back of their line. The blood and gore from the precise strikes of the Leaves followed him like a languorous cloud; the droplets hovering, suspended in the air. The bloody particulate wavered as it sunk like a feather floating down toward the ground. He wasted no time dispatching the Horde as they maneuvered frantically to turn and face their assailant. Heads and appendages floated slowly through the air, partially cauterized by the heat of the Leaves as he wreaked pure havoc on the back of their line.

  In a matter of moments, three quarters of the Horde were incapacitated, dead, maimed or blinded by the burning shrapnel from the fire. At the front of their line, five of the abominations pushed away from him. A slow bloodthirsty scream pouring from their lips as they lunged for the mercenary who stood with sword ready to receive their charge.

  The remainder had turned to face Ryl—the two standing directly in front of him roared as they closed in. A focused blast of wind from his hand threw their feet out from under them. He lunged forward, removing their heads before their bodies hit the ground.

  Without pause, he vaulted off the back of one of the disfigured creatures that writhed in pain on its hands and knees. With one hand it was still scratching desperately at the ruins of its eyes. Ryl soared through the air for a moment before gravity again took hold, yanking his body back toward the ground.

  The first two of the remaining five Horde falling on Andr were closing in to strike. Ryl watched as their claws snapped into position as they drew back for a lethal strike.

  Andr’s blade would respond too slow.

  He would not.

  Ryl landed feet first on the backs of the lead attackers, burying the blades of the Leaves deep into the top of their skulls. The glowing weapons burst out of the bottoms of their chins along with chunks of bone and a river of blood. Ryl dove to the side as their bodies crashed to the earth.

  His controlled roll brought him back to his feet in the face of the remaining three attackers. It was over in the blink of an eye. One fell, its legs severed below the knees; another’s head was separated from its body; the third, swinging to strike Andr, lost its arm before being disemboweled, nearly severed in two.

  Andr was safe.

  Ryl felt the burning in his veins dissipate. The weight of the fever crashed back into him. For a few moments, he’d felt energized. Alive.

  He felt unstoppable.

  His legs now wavered as
the furious spinning returned with a vengeance.

  “You can handle the rest,” he whispered to Andr.

  His body again gave into the agony. He collapsed to the ground in a heap.

  Chapter 15

  The thundering roar that tore through the clearing made Andr’s blood run cold. He felt the reverberations of the deafening cries as they passed through his body. The noise sounded like a chorus of voices, each with a different agenda, screaming in unison.

  In an instant the sound had altered the feeling inside the clearing. The frenzied bloodlust and anticipation of the Horde had filled the air with tension. They were eager for their kill; their excitement palpable. Andr could read the newfound confusion in the erratic, jerking movements of their heads. He could feel their fear as the rest of their bodies remained frozen in place.

  Risking a glance, Andr turned his head to the source of the sound. The clearing lit with a brilliant green light. He froze at the sight that met his eyes.

  The figure that stood before him looked like something out of a myth, an artist’s depiction of the heroes that had saved Damaris ages ago. The innocuous sticks that Ryl had so adamantly coveted now bore shimmering green blades that rippled with heat and fire.

  Ryl inclined his head revealing his eyes for the first time. Andr had seen a muted version of that look before. His mind flashed back to the day he witnessed Ryl stand his ground against the sub-master. The eyes now swirled with the temper of an inferno.

  The version of Ryl standing before him at the present was a stranger. He exuded a limitless confidence, so infectious, so magnetic, Andr felt drawn to him. The two met eyes only for a moment; the Ryl he knew returned for a split second, his lips curling into a devious smile.

  “This is not your night to die, my friend,” Ryl whispered.

  Andr heard the voice resonate clearly in his ears. He felt the voice as it hammered into him. In his head and in his heart, he believed every word of it with unconditional acceptance.