Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3)

by C. J. Aaron

  Only one remained breathing.

  It was Elias.

  By a strange twist of fate, he was reunited with his close friend who had been taken during the Harvest two cycles prior. Ryl shuddered at the horrors, the agony, that Elias must have endured. Had he even truly saved his friend? Was it compassion, or was he only prolonging his friend’s suffering?

  Only time would tell. Elias had yet to wake.

  Ryl glanced down at his tattooed left arm at the thought. It almost appeared to be glowing in the dim light of the wagon’s interior. The unexpected power that had flowed from his arm had been incredible. The ball of glowing light that swelled in his hand seemingly banished the darkness that had corrupted Elias. The power inside him had tipped the scale, evening the balance between the light and darkness.

  What had been done to corrupt the tributes past the point of recollection? They fought ferociously in defense of a system that had tortured them and had stolen every last shred of their existence. Their skin bore the black streaks of the nexela. The taint of the Outland Horde.

  The connection had become shockingly clear as Ryl had connected the pieces in his mind. Nexela was the antithesis to the alexen that lived within his veins. It was the vile compound that inhabited the blackened blood of the heartless killers of the Outland Horde.

  How had this come to pass? Somehow the compound was refined and infused into the withered shells of the tributes who had been milked of their blood in the processing facilities. The parchment retrieved from the facility before it fell to the torch called to him. Would he find the answers there?

  At the present, there was no time for deciphering the text, as alluring as the proposition sounded. There were others in far more worrying states that needed tending. In addition to Elias, they had saved ten of the twelve tributes from further torture in the processing facility. From the brands on their necks, Ryl knew all had languished there for cycles.

  Ryl sat quietly in the bed of Aldren’s wagon. His unfocused gaze watched the slow but even rise and fall of Elias’ chest. He could see the ribs of his friend’s gaunt and withered frame protruding through his clothes.

  It had been nearly half a day since they'd left the small hamlet behind, yet neither he nor any of the other tributes they'd rescued had woken. The merchant's cart along with the black wagon of the Lei Guard that they'd confiscated had been hastily transformed into rolling clinics.

  The tributes they'd rescued would no longer endure a life of torment in the facility. Unwillingly milked of their blood, their lives drained to make the fabled elixir—the so called Blessing of the King. The extended lifespan and heightened intelligence it provided came at the cost of another’s life. For the select few of the King’s sycophants who were allowed to consume the draught, that price was immaterial. The lives they stole were nothing compared to their self-preservation. Did it too contain the nexela?

  Ryl had seen firsthand the power and speed of the Horde. Did the elixir grant physical attributes to the sponsors as well?

  Either way, it was a practice that must be brought to an end.

  Even the guards at the facility were blissfully unaware of the true nature of the horrors that they had allowed to befall under their protection. The veil of innocence had been torn from their eyes. It was a seemingly small step along the path to their goal. If all went as planned, it would be removed from the eyes of the Kingdom once and for all.

  After a millennium of deceit, the people of Damaris would know the truth.

  The annual Harvest was only seven days away. Ryl and his companions from Vim were intent on making it a Harvest none would forget. One final ceremony to end the abomination that had continued unchecked for cycles.

  The wagon slowed to a halt and he heard footsteps crunch on the loose soil on the path. The curtain at the rear shifted, the light that streamed through the opening was nearly blinding. The motionless bodies of Elias and the other five tributes in the carriage looked far paler and more shriveled in the light of the sun. The black streaks that had snaked their way up Elias’ face had all but faded.

  The faces of Andr and Vox appeared through the opening.

  “How are the others?” Ryl asked his companions.

  “There's been no change, though I'm not sure if that bodes well or not,” Andr replied with a pained smile. “Let's get some food in this lot, then Vox will take over for you.”

  Ryl nodded in agreement as he moved to the task of carefully spoon feeding the emaciated shells of the tributes. They had purchased large pots of broth from the Serrate before their departure, although their supply was already running thin.

  He was hesitant to leave Elias. The husk of a man that lay unconscious before him had once been close enough to be his brother. The ruthless warrior that had attacked him on the bridge seethed with hatred, the true depths of which were impossible to comprehend. Ryl felt an overwhelming pang of apprehension at the thought that was ever present in his head. Which version of his friend would wake?

  Airing on the side of caution, Elias had been bound to his litter with thick leather straps around his wrists, chest and legs. One phrenic would remain on permanent guard until he woke and the answer to that question could be more readily understood. They had stripped him of his black cloak, replacing it with the simple clothing they'd purchased in Serrate.

  “Please let me know if he wakes, Vox,” Ryl said as he lowered himself down from the rear of the wagon.

  “Aye, Ryl,” the phrenic elementalist replied, placing his comforting hand on Ryl's shoulder before using it as leverage to hoist himself into the wagon.

  The expedition to Serrate had been unexpectedly fortuitous and yet it had made achieving their final goals increasingly complex. Until now, their plan to infiltrate The Stocks had primarily involved brute force. Their path had now taken an unexpected turn. Disguise, deceit and a great deal more subtlety were required.

  The cloak that Elias wore was now serving as a template for additional black garments—six to be precise. None would dare challenge a contingent of the Lei Guard desiring to enter The Stocks, no matter when they chose to enter.

  Ryl had no recollection of seeing the black cloaked guard at a Harvest in the past. Either way, through force or disguise, they would gain entry to The Stocks.

  Night was fast approaching as Ryl made his way, with Andr in tow, toward the front of the wagon. Aldren was ambling down from the raised front bench as they approached, a pile of black fabric in his hand. Dav, who'd been driving the wagon, was stretching out after the long stint in the driver's seat.

  “How're the cloaks coming?” Ryl asked.

  “It's tediously sluggish work, I'm afraid,” Aldren groaned. “I've cut most of the pieces at this point. It'll take some time to sew them together, especially if it's done from a moving wagon. I don't have the appropriate supplies for the work either.”

  Ryl frowned at the statement. They were running out of time. He was confident they could make The Stocks before the Harvest, yet without the completed cloaks their plan would be troublesome.

  “Are there any villages between here and Cadsae Proper where we can restock?” Ryl posed.

  “I've never taken this road before, but the town of Milstead isn't far past where this path crosses back over the river and joins the main thoroughfare,” Aldren responded.

  Andr cleared his throat before entering the conversation.

  “Our numbers have swelled since we first set out,” he stated. “I'm wary of the attention travelling in a group this large will bring.”

  Ryl shared a similar feeling as his friend. There was still a profound need for subtlety as they progressed. The risk of running into soldiers or Lei Guard once they reached the main road or Cadsae Proper would increase dramatically.

  Aldren's face lit up as the comment triggered a memory.

  “I have an acquaintance who owns a farm outside of Milstead,” he stammered. “I've been buying the wool from his sheep for cycles. He's got a large barn we could hold up
in and a place to stash the wagons out of sight for a spell.”

  “Is he trustworthy?” Andr interjected.

  “Aye, he is,” Aldren replied quickly without a hint of uncertainty. His voice was tinted with a slight suggestion of insult at the question.

  “Not all are the devils you believe they might be,” he glared at the mercenary. “Geshill harbors the same sentiment as I. Though his is far more volatile. He has more of a reason to hate the system of the tributes than most."

  Aldren paused, a look of sadness swept across his face. The moisture quickly filled in the corners of his eyes.

  “They stole his sister when he was but a child. The trace of alexen in her blood sealed her fate,” he whispered, though the intensity in his voice grew with every word. “He never forgave his parents for selling her. Ran from them the first opportunity he got. Tell him you're heading to burn down The Stocks, he's likely to bring the torch.”

  The comment stung Ryl deeper than any blade could penetrate. His repressed feelings of betrayal relished the opportunity to surge to the forefront of his mind. He struggled internally to quiet the revolt that waged inside.

  He met eyes with Andr, the two sharing a knowing glance. Ryl knew that far beneath the surface, the rugged mercenary was feeling an anguish that he could never hope to understand. The mercenary had lost everything; his son, his wife, his house, to the Ascertaining. Ryl sensed the familiar heat build in his veins, could feel the fire swelling in his eyes.

  “There will be time for that soon enough,” Ryl stated quietly, his voice dripping with unquestionable confidence. “Still, I think the fewer who know of our true intentions the better. If we can gain access to his barn, I'd like to sneak the black wagon in after the cover of darkness.”

  “I understand,” Aldren acknowledged. “Now if there's nothing more, I'd like to stretch out for a spell. The road always takes a toll, even when it's not nearly as bumpy.”

  With a nod, Aldren limped past them, stretching his legs as he headed toward the back of the wagon. The pair followed him with their eyes, watching as he left.

  “We were lucky to have stumbled across him when we did,” Ryl admitted quietly as the merchant moved beyond earshot.

  “Aye, that we were, Ryl,” Andr acknowledged. “It'll be wise to split the caravan when we set out in the morning. We're unlikely to meet travelers on this path, though the fewer eyes that see the wagons together the better."

  Ryl and Andr turned their heads as the crunching of the loose dirt underfoot gave away the approach of the phrenics. Kaep and Ramm stopped a few steps away, greeting them with a smile.

  “The Vigil are setting up camp just inside the treeline,” Kaep noted with a wave of her hand to the woods behind her. “We'll set a watch on the road north and south.”

  “That's a wise idea,” Andr said. “The chance of any reinforcement having reached Serrate and discovered the facility is still low. We can use another quiet night.”

  A low rumble sounded through the air. Ramm quickly folded his arms across his stomach. The massive phrenic shrugged his shoulders with a grin.

  “I agree with you. We could all use the food,” Andr commiserated with the hungry phrenic. “We passed a small pool in the river not more than a few hundred meters north. Kaep and Ryl, care to try your luck fishing again?”

  Chapter 2

  The brief fishing trip was a success, although the narrow river contained few large fish. Ryl and Kaep had relied on raw emotion, forced outward, to coax the fish to the surface. The power of their phrenic minds held enough sway to bring their fare to the surface. What wasn’t able to be captured by hand, Kaep speared with the use of her bow and arrow. This tactic worked with an adequate degree of success. After the first few attempts, the fish spooked quickly and the river around them became barren. They returned to their small camp with a half dozen fish to the cautiously muted cheers of their companions.

  Ryl had stopped again to check on Elias before making his way back to the small fire they'd hidden inside the tree line. There was seemingly no change in his condition. No change in any of the tributes' condition. Strange though it may sound, he longed to return them to The Stocks where he could commandeer the trusted services of Mender Jeffers.

  After eating, he lay close to the remains of the small fire, wrapping his phrenic cloak tightly around him. The warmth from the dying blaze sapped some of the weariness from his body, and he closed his eyes finding sleep quickly.

  Ryl woke with a start, sitting up from where he lay. The night was still. Through the opening in the foliage, stars flickered in the cloudless sky overhead. The remains of the fire glowed a light orange, the occasional quiet crackle issuing from the heavily consumed logs.

  There was a muffled commotion from the wagon. Ryl was on his feet in an instant, scanning the area with his mindsight. He located Vox's signature immediately among the faint yellow glows of the ailing tributes. The sight next to him made his heart skip a beat.

  A wispy, darkened cloud shifted by the phrenic’s side.

  Elias.

  Ryl leapt forward calling on the gift of speed from within. He reached the back of Aldren's wagon in an instant, the tingling in his tattooed left arm swelled as he approached. Without pause, he ripped the flap aside, springing into the back of the darkened wagon.

  A small lantern hung from the ceiling of the rear of the wagon. Vox jumped as Ryl burst inside. The phrenic was leaning down, his back to Elias. Somehow a tribute had fallen from their hastily constructed stretcher, and the phrenic elementalist worked carefully to return the addled body to its bed.

  As Ryl entered, Elias’ head rolled purposefully to its side. His haunting eyes met Ryl's. The eyes were not that of his friend. There was nothing but an infinite blackness filling their interior. The grin that slowly spread across his face contained pure malice.

  The tingling sensation in Ryl's arm began throbbing.

  “Vox, behind you,” Ryl hissed quietly as he hastened over the first of the tributes.

  The phrenic elementalist turned, the limp body of the withered tribute still in his arms. In a sudden motion, Elias struggled forward against his bonds. Vox cursed as he dropped the tribute to the floor before lunging for the straps that held Elias’ arms to the board.

  The voice that filled the wagon was ghostly. Ryl couldn't distinguish a note of his friend’s voice through the airy growl that issued from his lips.

  “You abominations will not remain free for long,” it said as it flashed its teeth together, thrashing against its restraints. “Your blood will be milked until every last drop has been devoured.”

  Ryl's arm was glowing as he reached Vox's side, the ball of light coalescing around his left hand. In their struggle with the Lei Guard at Serrate, he thought he had decimated the corruption that spread through his friend’s body. The black stains on his skin had faded, yet the taint clearly remained.

  His left arm moved on its own accord, his hand traveling toward Elias's head. He felt the tear brewing in his eye as he pressed his palm down on his old friend’s head.

  Ryl sensed the energy pass from him into Elias's skull. The haunting eyes rolled back into his head, startling white replacing the black before they slowly closed. The thrashing body lay still.

  What had he done?

  Chapter 3

  In the low, flickering light of the wagon, Ryl flexed his left arm over and over again. His eyes were trained on the small black smudges that marked the surface of his skin where the sun was tattooed on his left arm.

  Moments ago, there had been but one, now a second joined the first. The marks, no bigger than pin pricks, appeared to move ever so slightly as if jostled by the flares of the sun below.

  His eyes travelled to Elias. His friend had lain still since the outburst earlier in the night. Ryl stared closely for a long moment, confirming that his breaths still came. His friend’s chest rose and fell ever so slightly. Though his rest had been short, Ryl took over the watch from Vox. He knew the raci
ng of his heart and the running of his mind was incongruous with sleep.

  He'd helped Vox secure the straps that held Elias down before tending to the tribute who'd fallen from their makeshift litter. It seems the convulsions were involuntary as the man was still unresponsive after they returned him to his stretcher.

  The night passed without further incident. The recovering tributes in both wagons remained comatose as they broke camp before the sun had risen fully into the sky.

  With few words between them, the wagons slowly began their creaking procession over the rough road headed south toward the crossing. They traveled in a staggered line, separate, though keeping relatively close proximity to each other. A pair of riders scouted ahead, while two trailed slightly behind. The remainder of their party split their duties between driving the wagons or tending to the ailing tributes. Aldren for the most part remained at the head of his wagon diligently working on the black cloaks.

  They intended on traveling within earshot until they crossed to the eastern side of the narrow river. From there, they would space themselves out by a matter of a mile or so as they traveled the short distance to the main road that ran toward Milstead. Should they encounter any on the road, word of Lei Guard riding in caravan with civilians was sure to raise unwanted suspicion and questions.

  Ryl remained at his post watching Elias and the comatose tributes as the caravan slowly inched forward. He waved off the reprieve as Ramm pushed his head through the flaps at the rear of the wagon. The modest confines of the wagon’s interior weren't comfortably set to accommodate a person of the massive phrenic's stature. Even before the addition of the makeshift stretchers for the tributes the wagon would have felt cramped for the mountain of a man.

  Ryl chuckled to himself as Ramm accepted the dismissal, closing the flaps behind him. The sight of the phrenic riding on a horse was interesting to say the least. The beasts were strong, but their legs were sure to flag quickly under the weight of his imposing, solid frame. For the most part, Ramm had occupied his time driving one of the two wagons.