Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3)

by C. J. Aaron

  Her fingers gently found the brand again, tracing the outline of the numbers. Her eyes remained trained on his face the entire time.

  “One. Three. Five. One,” she whispered curiously as she traced the raised scars of his brand. “1351. That's this cycle, isn't it, father?”

  “Aye, Faya, it is,” her father answered. “How is this possible?”

  The point of his small blade had lowered, now aimed harmlessly at the ground.

  “That is a long tale. One for another time I'm afraid,” Ryl announced. “Are either of you hurt?”

  “No, thankfully,” the father said appreciatively. “Not sure that would have been the case if you hadn't shown up when you did. My name's Rolan.”

  “And I'm Faya,” she announced holding her right hand out in front of her. Ryl reached out, shaking the small hand of the young woman.

  “Faya. That's a very pretty name,” Ryl said cheerfully. “I'm Ryl, and behind me stands a very close friend of mine, his name is Andr.”

  Ryl looked up at Rolan, patting Faya on the head as he stood. She smiled and waved in Andr's direction. The mercenary, who was watching the surrounding forest, waved absently, offering a quiet, yet polite, hello.

  Rolan held his hand out as Ryl stood. His grip was firm, the look of gratitude in his eyes unmistakable.

  “We need to leave this area with haste,” Ryl announced, changing the subject. “Andr, seek out the farmer, see how far this river travels from his lands. I hesitate to parade us back through Milstead. There were few on the street, yet the commotion was surely noted.”

  “Aye, Ryl,” Andr agreed. “Stick to the trees and follow the river to the south. Return to the opposite bank at the first safe crossing beyond the town. Find somewhere to hide and wait for my return. I'll bring the phrenic.”

  Ryl nodded to his friend.

  “Stay hidden. Stay safe,” Andr instructed. “We'll meet again shortly.”

  Without another word, the mercenary turned and stalked back into the woods toward the river.

  “Come, let's leave this cleaning,” Ryl said. “Let the hunters have it.”

  They moved quickly and quietly away from the blood-soaked opening in the forest, leaving the bodies of the butchers to the elements. They would never again hunt the living. They would never again wrest child from family.

  Ryl breathed a sigh of relief as they slipped into the forest beyond. The air was immediately fresher, free from the metallic stench of blood and death. The calming natural aromas of the forest: earth, leaves and pine soothed his senses. His stomach settled as the last of the blood-drenched leaves passed behind him. The devastation he had wreaked was horrifying.

  He was thankful young Faya lacked the ability to see. Though her story to this point was yet unknown, she needn't have witnessed what he'd done in the clearing. No child should.

  No one should.

  It wasn’t long before Rolan broke the silence of their trek.

  “Perhaps another mile downstream there is a crossing where a large tree fell across the water,” he said. “There's a cave in the rocks not far from there where we hid for a few days. We can wait for your friends there.”

  Ryl stopped, quickly scanning the area with his eyes and mindsight. He nodded his head in agreement.

  “I'll follow you, my friend,” he offered. “Lead on.”

  He paused as the two moved by. Faya looked up at him, smiling wide as she strode by, her hand clutched to the back of her father's shirt. Ryl could see where the fabric was stretched from the constant pull of the youngster on his tail.

  How many miles had they traveled like this?

  They moved onward in silence. Their pace was sluggish as they crossed the rocky ground through the forest that ran along the western side of the river. Ryl could tell the uneven terrain was enacting a wearisome toll on both father and daughter alike.

  Stepping over a large flat boulder, Rolan slipped as his foot came down on the soft, wet moss that lined its side. He toppled forward, pulling Faya down with him. His pack slipped from his shoulder, sliding to a stop a few steps away.

  “Faya, my dear, are you alright?” he asked kindly as he helped his child to her feet.

  “Yes, father,” was all she replied. She rubbed gently at a small scratch that had opened on her arm.

  By the time the pair regained their footing, Ryl had already collected their errant pack, easily tossing it over his shoulder. He was shocked by the trivial weight of the bag. They had likely been forced to leave in a hurry. Though assuredly stuffed with clothing and supplies, their bag couldn't have contained more than a few days of limited rations. Even so, the extra burden on the flagging shoulders of Rolan, light as it was, was dragging him down.

  “Let me carry this load for you,” Ryl offered.

  Rolan opened his mouth to retort. Ryl countered with a wave of acceptance before the words could leave the father’s lips. The tired man simply nodded his head in defeat. Young Faya looked up at Ryl, a profound expression of knowing flashing across her face. She winked at him as her haunted gaze met his. Her father took her hand, guiding it to his shirt as they resumed their careful trek through the forest.

  True to Rolan’s word, they soon reached the fallen tree that formed a precarious crossing over the narrow span of river. Their speed, though sluggish, was of little concern to Ryl. It would still be some time before Andr returned to the farm, gathered the phrenics and set out to find them.

  The forest thinned as it reached the edge of the river. The large, thick trunk of an ancient tree stretched across both banks. On the opposite bank, the massive mound created by the circumference of its upturned roots formed a circular wall nearly five meters high. The rays of the sun had broken through the pervasive mist of the morning, burning off the dampness that had hung low in the air.

  They paused momentarily at the edge of the tree. Rolan spoke softly to Faya before scooping her up, sitting her gently on the trunk of the fallen giant. The branches of the tree had been stripped bare of their leaves by the passage of time. The bark was overgrown with moss due to the constant moisture from the water below. Rolan clambered up, directing Faya onto his back. The young girl clung tightly to her father, her arms locked around the front of his neck.

  Their passage over the rolling waters below was harrowing and time consuming. Thankfully, the crossing was accomplished with relative ease. The dead branches of the enormous tree stood erect in the air, allowing for staggered yet firm handholds. Ryl hovered a pace behind throughout their balancing act, ready to help should they again need assistance.

  He saw Rolan breathe a heavy sigh of relief as they clambered down from the uprooted stump of the tree. The man’s shoulders heaved and fell as the air escaped his lungs.

  “We’ll be there soon,” Rolan announced, composing himself, offering a weak smile. He gently set Faya down at his side. She latched onto his hand as they made their way south along the edge of the river. Ryl maintained his position in their wake, his eyes and senses continually investigating the surrounding woods. To their right, the sluggish course of the river babbled quietly. The woods on the opposite side had thinned, though the terrain was still rocky and uneven.

  The forest to the east was nearly a mirror image of the trees that loomed over the western banks. In both directions, they stretched into the distance, though the view between their trunks and branches was negligible. Through small breaks in the foliage to the east, Ryl could see what he assumed to be the blue of the sky beyond the edge of the woods. Their path led them in a southerly direction, running nearly perpendicular to the road that led to Milstead. Though he knew not the exact location of their destination, he was assured that they were closing the distance between themselves and the farm.

  They followed the bank of the river for nearly a mile before forging back into the woods to the east. Their wary steps plodded along a narrow, well-worn game trail. Ryl could clearly make out the distinct markings of deer in the soft earth at their feet. The path wound aroun
d the base of a ridge before Rolan veered from the cleared path. Climbing up the increasing incline of the hill, they worked their way toward a large boulder that jutted out from the hillside. With Faya in tow, he navigated his path around the back side of the rock; a disguised entrance to a cave opened between the stone and the earth.

  Ryl was impressed with the ease in which the young girl followed in her father’s steps. They had developed an incredible bond; a trust that outweighed her limitations. Her lack of eyesight appeared not to hinder her as they moved together as one.

  Rolan led Faya to the wall of the cave. She smiled as she ran her hands across the smooth surface of the rock. She walked forward eagerly, her hand connected to the stone beside her.

  Ryl marveled at the nimbleness of her movements through her surroundings. He glanced over at Rolan who flashed him an understanding smile.

  “I like this cave, it's more comfortable and less smelly than the cellar,” she announced as she seated herself comfortably in the corner.

  Rolan chuckled softly at the comment.

  “She's had an unnatural connection with the world around her ever since she was a babe,” he whispered. “Even in unfamiliar places she's managed without much hinderance. It's no wonder the soldiers and menders were at our door nearly a moon before her eighth cycle.”

  Ryl shot Rolan a sympathetic smile.

  “They dragged us both in, even though I had the papers to prove both my testing and her age,” he said woefully. “I honestly wasn't surprised when I was notified of the results. Strange though as it was.”

  Rolan entered the cave sitting down carefully alongside his daughter. He sighed, leaning his head back as he rested against the rock of their temporary earthen home. It was a moment before his weary eyes opened again, returning to meet Ryl’s. At his side, Faya patted the ground next to her, motioning with her hand for Ryl to sit by her side. He removed the pack that he'd been carrying for the family before politely acquiescing to the child's wishes, jostling her hair as he sat. Faya leaned her head on his shoulder as he reached the ground.

  “What do you mean by strange?” Ryl asked. He smiled, shaking his head subtly at Faya as she made herself comfortable against his arm.

  “We were coming home from the market, nearing our home,” Rolan relayed. “The man that approached us had waited for us in the cover of the shadows of the adjacent building. His hood was up covering his face. His voice was familiar to me, yet I couldn't place it. Faya identified him immediately as a mender who'd assisted at her testing.”

  Rolan quickly rooted through their pack, handing a small piece of dried meat to Faya. Ryl politely declined his offering.

  “The mender came with the results of her testing and with a warning,” Rolan admitted. “He told that they were coming for her with the day’s sunset and bade us to seek the safety of the Anvil.”

  “The Anvil Mountains?” Ryl asked curiously.

  Rolan nodded in agreement. A quiet suspicion rose within his mind as the beginnings of a question began brewing anew.

  “That range is a long way from here, I'm afraid,” Ryl commented. “Did he say why you should seek those mountains?”

  “I’m afraid he left us with nothing but that,” Rolan said. “We were heading in that direction when our horse became hobbled. Poor old girl. Hunters showed up soon after that. We've been running from them ever since.”

  Faya let out a large yawn. She pulled herself off Ryl's arm before curling up on the ground, settling comfortably with her head on her father's leg. They both watched for a moment as her breathing slowed, ushering in a peaceful sleep.

  “Where are you from?” Ryl asked quietly once Faya had settled.

  “We're from Hakit,” Rolan said. “It's just a stone's throw from the shadow of Cadsae Proper on the coast of the Sea of Prosper.”

  “Have you family left in Hakit?” Ryl asked.

  Rolan looked down at his sleeping daughter in his lap. Ryl watched as the layer of moisture coated his eyes.

  “She's all I have left,” Rolan said, offering a forced attempt at a smile. “Her mother died during her birth.”

  Ryl focused, sending a wave of comfort over man.

  “I'm sorry, Rolan,” Ryl said compassionately.

  The two sat in silence. Time stretched on with neither man volunteering to break the quiet serenity of the moment. The hushed breathing of the sleeping child was the only sound to disturb the silence.

  Ryl maintained his watch over the area. His mindsight indicated no sign of the phrenics. His heart went out to the man, who was inevitably grieving such a profound loss. He'd done right by his child. He'd chosen to stand by her side, accepting that his love was worth far more than any gold the Kingdom could offer.

  “For what it's worth, my friend, you made the right decision by her,” Ryl said breaking the silence.

  “There was only truly one choice to make,” Rolan responded immediately.

  Ryl cast his eyes downward for a moment as unwelcome memories streamed into his mind.

  If only his family had shared the same sentiment.

  “If only no one was made to choose,” Ryl said quietly.

  Chapter 13

  The conversation, though brief, turned to lighter subjects as they awaited the arrival of Andr and the phrenics. Rolan soon fell into an uneasy slumber. He'd done what was needed to protect his child to the best of his ability. Ryl was thankful that fate had allowed for his timely arrival.

  Without his help, a child would have been without a father.

  The Stocks would have had another tribute.

  He looked down at the sleeping girl curled up against her father's side. She was so young. So innocent. How could anyone knowingly cast a child into the life that was forced upon them in The Stocks? Yet the harshness of life inside was nothing compared to the devastating cycles that would follow their Harvest.

  Ryl's body warmed as the heat spread through him. His solid resolve was hardened further, forged into an unbreakable purpose.

  The Stocks would fall. The tributes would be free.

  He would see to it.

  The afternoon progressed quickly. The sun tracked slowly across the sky above them, inching toward its eventual rest in the west. Daylight was beginning to fade when Ryl noted the first of the glowing signatures in the outer reaches of his mindsight. A second winked in to view shortly after.

  Ryl rose quietly, gently waking Rolan from his brief slumber.

  “They're nearly here,” he said quietly.

  Rolan nodded briefly, shifting to give his body the leverage to lift the sleeping child into his arms. Faya grumbled quietly at being disturbed, yet settled back to sleep with her head on her father's shoulder. Ryl collected the pack containing their belongings before leading the pair from the cave.

  The glowing signatures of the phrenics had paused nearing the extent of Ryl's vision. He guessed that they waited at the edge of the forest. As the low rumble of the river faded in the background, he noted the distinct absence of noise and life from the woods. The still of the afternoon was eerily quiet. He paused, focusing again on the sight of the phrenics at the forest's edge.

  They remained still where they had stopped.

  Ryl plotted the easiest course for the group toward the position of his companions. His mindsight illuminated more details the closer they approached. He could clearly identify the pair who had come. It was Kaep and Vox.

  “I can see them, father,” Faya announced sleepily as they slowly crossed the uneven ground of the thinning forest.

  The openings between the trees were growing steadily wider, however, the rocks and foliage seemed to choke off the ability to travel in a straight line.

  “How many do you see, Faya?” Ryl quizzed the youngster.

  “I see two, though they are still some distance off,” she replied confidently.

  “Good. Very good,” Ryl replied, turning his body around, reaching out to tussle her hair. “There are few that can see at such distance. Wh
at can you tell me about them?”

  He exchanged a sincere glance with Rolan. The father was beaming at the praise of his daughter.

  “Like you, they glow with a yellow light, though not as bright,” she answered. “They look to be sitting, though they are still very blurry to me.”

  Ryl was astounded by the amount of detail that the child was able to describe. In his readings, and in the knowledge inherent in the alexen that flowed within his blood, there were few cases of mindsight developed to a point of comprehending form and features. Ryl, like the other phrenics in Vim, relied on the glowing orbs to determine the location of his phrenic companions. His senses were advanced over those who inhabited the hidden city, as his mindsight provided enough subtle differentiation to comprehend their signatures, much like seeing a face. To him, no two were alike, and given time, he could tell them apart readily. The thought of being able to determine their posture, as Faya could, astounded him.

  His quizzing of the child would have to wait. It wasn’t long before the faint traces of conversation filtered through the trees. He could clearly make out the voice of Andr in the distance. Though he knew the phrenics had noted his coming, he focused, sending a wave of calm over the group that waited at the forest's edge.

  They paused, remaining inside the shadow of the trees. Their companions were now clearly visible through the gaps in the woods. Andr, Kaep, Vox and Geshill waited patiently on their horses, their eyes readily searching their surroundings for any sign of danger. The phrenics were the first to acknowledge their approach. Kaep slid gracefully off her horse as they broke from the edge of the trees.

  “Trouble has a way of finding you, Ryl,” she said quietly as they approached.

  “So, too, does opportunity,” he smiled as he turned, ushering Rolan and Faya forward. The introductions were brief. Faya stood wide eyed taking in her unique view of the surroundings. Her large, blue eyes darted from speaker to speaker. In the moments of pause, she dedicated her inner sight to studying the forms of the phrenics; her unseeing eyes carefully cataloging every feature.