Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2)

by C. J. Aaron

  He crossed the room to where his new pack sat undisturbed on the floor alongside the couch.

  Now that his presence had been announced to Vim, all knew of the power lurking within his blood. Ryl lifted the pack, placing it on the end of the couch. The bag was a considerable upgrade from that which he’d carried with him into the Outlands. His last pack, a low-quality remnant of The Stocks, had been cut into strips, used to create the sled that aided Andr in dragging his unconscious body.

  He opened the pack, carefully retrieving his ancient phrenic cloak. The contact of the soft fabric with his skin was energizing, erasing the hint of doubt that his strength would remain. He pulled the high collar up, covering much of the brands on his neck, yet he left the hood down.

  The final contents of his bag were the Leaves, still slumbering in their hastily modified holsters. With almost reverent care, Ryl strapped the holsters onto each arm. As with the cloak, the feel of the wood against his skin was invigorating. He resisted the overwhelming call to bring the shimmering green blades to life. The combination of the Leaves and the cloak felt natural, as if they were extensions of his body. The replete sensation was a startling contrast to what he'd experienced moments earlier. He felt naked when they were absent.

  Shrugging off the disparate awareness, Ryl left his small room, heading along the avenue toward the Hall of the Phrenic. The street was eerily quiet at the early hour, though he passed several people heading purposefully to their destinations. The closer he moved toward the square, the more evidence remained as a reminder of the previous night's festivities. Looking up the Northfate through the central square, he could see a small group of people diligently sweeping refuse into a pile alongside a large wooden cart.

  The avenues around the colosseum looked to have been freshly swept as he approached the Hall. Ryl hadn’t made his way past the hulking structure when the first tendrils of a familiar feeling tickled his senses. The welcome sensation he'd grown to understand as a sign of the alexen blossomed as he neared. He could sense the phrenics as if they were standing next to him. Ryl needed no mindsight to know that they were close.

  The exterior of the Hall of the Phrenic was impressive, like the rest of the structures that comprised Vim. The large fluted pillars were carved directly from the mountain’s side. Stretching up some ten meters, they supported the ornately carved awning that spanned the distance between them and stretched out several meters over the avenue. Tall, narrow slits in the flattened stone face between the pillars served as windows into the hall, though the curtains hung on the interior blocked the view inside.

  As if his arrival was foretold, the massive single door to the hall swung silently inward. The warm light from the glow of several lanterns spilled out onto the pre-dawn street. Councilor Paasek emerged from the interior, greeting Ryl at the entrance.

  “Welcome to the Hall of the Phrenic, Ryl. You’re earlier than I expected,” Paasek noted. Ryl opened his mouth to apologize for the intrusion, but Paasek interrupted him before the words could escape.

  “No matter,” boomed the phrenic. “Well, the scout detail’s awaiting your arrival. Come, come.”

  Paasek put his tattooed arm around Ryl’s shoulders, gently ushering him into the hall. Ryl was again astounded by the feel of the man’s arm on his shoulders. Both the weight and texture of his skin matched the rock-like appearance of the markings.

  The phrenic leaned in close, speaking quietly as they made their way to the open door.

  “The cloak fits like it was made for you,” Paasek admitted. “It’s an appropriate look. You'll wear it well.”

  Warm air, laced with the hint of smoke, spilled out from the interior of the hall, blanketing Ryl in a comforting aura. The morning air was cool, and the heat escaping from inside seeped into him, soothing his body to the core. They entered into a large rectangular room which was surprisingly the least adorned room he’d set foot in within the city limits.

  Like the other surfaces around the city, the walls were smoothed, yet here, their faces showed the cracks and weathering of the ages. At the far end of the hall a fire burned away in a large fireplace carved into the stone wall. A door stood to either side of the fireplace; the right was closed, the left opened onto a poorly lit hallway. Two sets of doors flanked either side of the hall though all were shut. A large, rectangular table dominated the center of the room, with twenty identically carved wooden chairs lining its perimeter. The four closest to the fire on the right side were occupied.

  Paasek closed the door behind them. The clicking of the lock as it closed echoed through the nearly empty hall. The four seated at the end of the table rose as Paasek and Ryl made their way across the room.

  “Ryl, allow me to introduce you to the scout detail that you will accompany once you’ve completed your recovery and learn to maintain a better grasp on your skills,” Paasek dictated. “You know Kaep, she is the vanguard for the detail. To her side is Deyalou, Ramm, and Vox. You will come to know them all like family in time.”

  All four greeted Ryl with pleasant smiles, nodding their heads politely as Paasek announced their names.

  It was the first time Ryl had seen the faces of any in the scout detail that had come to their aid in the Outlands. He hesitated to guess at their ages owing to the effects of the alexen on their appearances. Deyalou and Ramm appeared to be older than Kaep, though only slightly, while Vox appeared the senior member of the detail.

  To Kaep's side, Deyalou eased himself into his seat, reclining in his chair, crossing his arms comfortably across his chest. He was tall and thin, though athletically built. His hair was a disheveled looking mass of short, dark brown patches. Some stood on end, while others poked out to the side or remained flat across his forehead. His chin was covered with a thin coating of dark stubble. Ryl could read the genuine warmth of his smile through the natural seriousness of his expression.

  Next in line was Ramm. The phrenic easily dwarfed the others in stature and was without a doubt the largest man Ryl had ever met. His mind flashed back to his friend, Zed, the gentle giant of The Stocks. Even he would have appeared small in comparison to the phrenic. Ramm’s frame was massive, though he was not at all obese. His dirty blond hair was curly and stopped just off his shoulders, though he wore a plait on either side keeping the stray hairs from his squared off face. The thick beard that covered much of his face did little to disguise his smile.

  The last of his detail was Vox, the elementalist. Unlike the others, his hair and face were clean shaven. His eyebrows were thin and light brown, only a few shades from matching the color of his skin. He was roughly the same height as Ryl and, as expected, he appeared physically fit. His face was kind, though wizened by age and experience. The light grey of his eyes, however, was haunting.

  “Now enough with the formalities. Sit, sit,” Paasek commanded, interrupting Ryl’s hasty survey of his new companions. The four had returned to their original seats while Paasek ushered Ryl around to the opposite side, pulling out a chair for him as he continued on to the seat at the head of the table.

  “Let’s get to it then. Our primary duties take us outside the walls of Vim. We work in three separate scout details of four phrenics that patrol the forests outside of Vim,” Paasek continued as he sank into his chair.

  “Pardon the interruption, aren't there sixteen phrenics in Vim?” Ryl asked as politely as possible.

  Councilor Paasek smiled as he shifted his body forward, leaning his elbows on the table.

  “Aye, that there are, Ryl,” the councilor said. “The phrenic of old spoke of the specialties suited for war as a sporadic occurrence. The numbers they massed at the Battle of the Erlyn Woods were small compared to their total population. That trend continued here in our great city. That is until the Barren.”

  Paasek leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as he continued. The phrenics seated across the table listened attentively, as if the telling was the first they’d heard.

  “For reasons tha
t remain a mystery to us, the Barren seems to have flipped the tables,” he continued. “All but three of our number today are proficient in skills suited to the ways of war. They remain here as permanent fixtures in the city, though they. like the rest of Vim, have trained to take up arms should the need arise. As the Councilor for the phrenics, it is also my place to remain here in the city.”

  He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, interlocking his fingers, meeting eyes with Ryl.

  “Today, you will travel beyond the safety of the walls back into the forest. It’s an area near where the original founders entered our great city,” Paasek continued. “Kaep and I will accompany you as well as a squad from the Vigil. The trek will be several miles each way, do you think your body can handle it?”

  “Aye, I do,” Ryl replied confidently.

  “Know that there is no harm in asking for assistance should you need it at any point,” Paasek said with a smile. “None here have a true grasp of the tortures you were subjected to within The Stocks, or the ravaging of the poison you were forced to endure. We are brethren. Let us shoulder your burden if you need it.”

  Ryl was at a loss for words. It took a moment for the gravity of the statement to sink in. He felt as if a portion of the void that dwelled in him since his imprisonment had been filled within a matter of a few, simple words. His family had grown stronger. He hoped they would one day hold power strong enough for a reunion the likes of which the kingdom had never seen.

  “Thank you,” was all Ryl could muster.

  “Think nothing of it,” Paasek said. “We phrenics are all bound to each other. We willingly support each other, even if that means sacrificing our own lives, though we pray that need never arises. In all likelihood, we are the last sixteen, no, seventeen, of us left.”

  Paasek’s sentiment was heartfelt. The phrenic councilor meant the words he spoke. The scout detail that had come to his rescue had knowingly risked their lives to save him. They’d prevailed against overwhelming odds, stealing victory from the Outland Horde. The thoughts of sacrifice, however, brought with them the grim images of Eroh and Kailid. Ryl’s mind relived the scene as the ravenous claws of the Horde tore their bodies to shreds. The pain in his heart was still fresh. The agony of their deaths tore at him like they had happened only moments earlier.

  “Who or what is the prophet?” Ryl asked, happy to change the subject.

  “We know not who he is, he’s never revealed to us his face,” Paasek admitted. “That he is phrenic, we are assured. All phrenics can see him clearly with the mindsight, his glow radiates with a brilliance that dwarfs the rest of us. Much like you, he glows like the sun. His tattoos, while as plain as the day to see, are in a constant state of motion. They swirl and shift of their own accord, subtle enough that their motion could be overlooked, yet with an intensity great enough that the eyes cannot focus on their precise details.”

  “What messages does he bring?” Ryl asked.

  “His message had been consistent from his first contact with the founders,” Paasek explained. “He carried with him what he called the catalyst prophecy, the dying words of a phrenic seer by the name of Lupl.”

  The phrenic will balance on a blade's edge, clinging desperately to their ideals, teetering on the verge of oblivion. On this precipice, one will come with active blood. This one will be the Catalyst. The wind behind our sails to push us through the storm to calmer waters. The light needed to guide us home through the darkness. Only the blood of the catalyst will set us free.

  Ryl’s eyes opened wide as Paasek spoke the words that Ryl recalled so clearly. The phrenics seated around the table looked questioningly as Ryl’s reaction could not be disguised.

  “You’ve heard this before, haven’t you?” Kaep asked curiously.

  “Yes, I have,” Ryl gasped. “In the Erlyn, when I met with the phrenic named Da’agryn. His sudden disappearance has troubled me. He said he was more a part of the Erlyn now than anything. That he’s been known by many names throughout the ages, yet in all other places, he was nothing more than a voice and conveyed emotions.” Ryl’s voice trailed off as his mind worked to decipher any information he’d overlooked from his brief visit with the mysterious ancient phrenic.

  “You think then, that these could be the same?” Paasek inquired.

  “Aye. The more I hear of this prophet, the more convinced I am that they are,” Ryl professed.

  An uncontrolled grin spread across Paasek’s face.

  “Yes, well we shall see soon enough,” he continued.

  Paasek shifted back in his chair, crossing his legs as he folded his arms across his broad chest.

  “Those are the Leaves that you retrieved in the Erlyn, are they not?” he asked.

  “They are,” Ryl confirmed. He subconsciously retracted his arms from the table, protectively covering the mythical weapons.

  “Ha. Fear not my friend,” Paasek chuckled. “None here covet those blades. None here could use them if they tried. The holsters, while cleverly designed, could use some modifications. I would suggest removing the one from your right arm entirely, it will only stand to interfere with the application of your other skills.”

  Paasek rose from his chair at the head of the table circling behind the phrenics seated opposite Ryl. He stopped behind Deyalou, placing his hands on the top of the man’s chair.

  “As you know, we phrenics are skilled at far more than just war,” the councilor reiterated. “Our skills vary, yet in front of you sits an expert leatherworker. I will not ask you to part with both of the Leaves, yet if you could leave one with its holster, a design can be modified to better secure them.”

  After a moment's hesitation, Ryl unstrapped the bracer from his right arm, sliding it across the large wooden table. Deyalou stood, collecting the weapon with reverent care.

  Deyalou delicately removed the weapon from its holster, turning it over in his hands. His eyes catalogued every grain in the wood with intent, studying every minute detail. His fingers rubbed gently over the worn patch at its middle. The phrenic's eyes were wide with wonder. The others seated next to him leaned over in silent appreciation as they too gaped at the innocuous weapon.

  “I have some ideas that should make these blades more accessible and stow them more securely,” Deyalou admonished. “This construction is crude, but your idea is admirable given what you had to work with. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get started on this now.”

  Paasek grunted in agreement while Deyalou started for the door.

  “Don’t worry, Ryl,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll take good care of them. I’ll put this ahead of my other work. I intend to have a sample ready for you when you return this evening.”

  “Thank you,” Ryl said graciously.

  Deyalou hastened from the hall, letting the door close quietly behind him. Ryl watched him go with a sense of trepidation. A nervous fear settled over his body as if he was being separated from his kin for an undetermined length of time. Paasek broke the silence.

  “Ramm, Vox, you will continue with your duties within Vim,” Paasek explained. “Ryl, your friend is putting a company of the Vigil through their paces before we leave. It wouldn’t hurt for you to study what you can. You'll learn that even seeing instruction with the naked eye can imbue some understanding of the skill."

  Paasek tapped his index finger on the side of his head.

  "The knowledge is there," he said. "It is a matter of activating it. We will leave from the training grounds once their instruction is complete.”

  Ryl took Kaep’s hint, rising from his chair, following her toward the doorway. She paused momentarily at the door, collecting her long bow and quiver that rested on the long, narrow table that ran along the wall. Ryl saw no sign of her knives, though he was sure they were secreted away on her person.

  “I have some tasks to attend to before we depart,” Paasek announced as they neared the outer door. “I’ll join you shortly.”

  Ryl and Kaep moved from the H
all of the Phrenic turning northward, passing the colosseum on their right and the Council Seat on their left. On the northern edge of the Westfate, a long, two story building commanded the entirety of the block between the two smaller parallel avenues. Kaep volunteered a brief explanation of their surroundings as they walked. Ryl was struck by an overwhelming feeling of unfamiliarity; there was so much to the great city he had yet to experience.

  The sprawling building ahead was the central military hall for the Vigil. Within its complex there were barracks housing the majority of those on duty. Military classrooms and a large clinic comprised the remaining sections of its interior.

  From behind the building, the unmistakable sounds of steel striking steel mingled with the shouts and grunts of the training Vigil. Running the length of the building at its rear was a large open field dedicated to training. Patches of flattened grass dotted the enclosure, though most of the area was worn down from heavy use to a hard-packed earth.

  A squat stone wall separated the outdoor training grounds from the outer avenue that traveled the circumference of the city. There was a large gathering of Vigil sparring in pairs as their instructors moved between their ranks, making corrections to form where needed. Ryl and Kaep stopped alongside the wall. He immediately recognized Andr among the instructors giving the early morning lesson.

  Andr inclined his head in recognition as his eyes made contact with Ryl’s. The mercenary turned instructor continued his circuit through the pairings of the Vigil.

  “Looks like the children are here to see what real sword fighters can do,” the scoff came from a group along the edge of the training grounds, several meters from where they had stopped.

  The snide remarks garnered chuckles from several of the surrounding groups.

  All laughter ceased as Andr's voice boomed over the grounds.

  “On me. Now,” he commanded.

  The sparring ceased. The Vigil scrambled into a roughly packed order.