Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3)
Page 11
The light of the day was fading fast as the sun dipped below the horizon many miles to the west. Their apprehension of encountering another group of hunters still lingered as they hastened to mount their horses, eager to return to the relative safety of Geshill's farm.
Ryl took Andr's outstretched hand, mounted behind the mercenary. Rolan rode with Geshill, while Faya was all too happy to ride with Kaep. The young girl had already launched into a flurry of questions the moment her father had finished assisting her onto the back of the phrenic’s horse.
Kaep, to her credit, showed a side of her character of which Ryl was wholly unfamiliar. The normally stoic warrior was nurturing and bubbly as she opened up to the child. Ryl flashed her a bemused smile; the phrenic responded with a roll of her eyes as they spurred their horses onward to the farm.
In Ryl's absence, his companions at the farm had been anything but idle. Watches were maintained with a steady vigil. None wanted to risk further endangering the farmer, or his additional family members who had been recruited from Milstead. Thankfully the roads leading to his farm and the surrounding countryside remained quiet. There were no further sightings of hunters or Lei Guard.
The phrenics had maintained a constant presence watching over Elias and the other tributes. Each had taken marginal steps toward recovery, though none had spoken with any inkling of clarity as Elias had the previous afternoon. Arms and legs of the tributes twitched with glimpses of conscious control. Eyes batted as if in deep, dreaming slumber.
The signs were nominal at best. Their worried and eager rescuers were cautiously optimistic about their progress.
Both of Geshill's daughters, Zayah and Willa, were eager participants, though they had no concept of the true nature of their father’s scheme. They'd reported to the farm as promised past midday. True to their father’s word, they feigned no emotion when the plight of the tributes was described. They were raised grieving over the stories of their stolen aunt. They sided with their father, echoing his deep-rooted hatred of the system that had taken his beloved sister away.
Though none knew of the final plans, they'd set in on the task they were enlisted for in earnest; recreating the black cloaks. As two talented seamstresses, they assured Geshill that the work would be accomplished quickly. Their horror was poorly veiled when they viewed the quality of the disguises that Aldren had pieced together on the road. The merchant was chastised—but took the abuse in good stride.
The ride back to Geshill’s farm was thankfully short. Ryl could see the weariness that remained in Rolan’s body. Now that the ever-present burden and dread of being discovered was at least mildly alleviated, his shoulders slumped. His protective eyes watched his daughter cautiously as his body cried out for a well-deserved rest.
Against all odds, he'd brought his child from the brink of certain servitude. He'd willingly sacrificed everything. Every moment spent with her was a moment more than he'd been granted by the Kingdom. Ryl was thankful for the twists of fate that had caused their paths to align. One looming question, however, remained. Who was the mysterious mender who'd informed them of the impending news?
The mystery would have to wait. A thin line of smoke streaked into the clear, darkening sky ahead. The rooftops of Geshill's house and stable stood out among the scattered trees that dotted his property. The bleating of the sheep grew steadily as they drew near.
They approached the farm from a westerly direction, opposite from the small road that led to the front. The back of Geshill's farmhouse held a single door in the middle of its frame, and a solitary step led to the ground below. Their impending arrival had likely been reported by one of the sentries guarding the perimeter of the property. The figures of two women stood patiently waiting, one standing on either side of the door.
Geshill's daughters strode out to meet them as they reached the farm. The subtle aroma of food on the light breeze caused Ryl's stomach to rumble. The day had not gone as anticipated. Nearly a full day had been spent. The Harvest loomed in the immediate future.
Less than five days remained.
Less than five days before an action that could shape the course of a kingdom.
Ryl was distracted by the thought as he slid down from the horse as Andr pulled the mare to a stop. He hastened to the side of Kaep's mount, assisting Faya as she fearlessly sprang into his arms. Rolan, who had lagged a few steps behind, gently chided the child for her careless behavior. Faya grinned at Ryl as she collected her father’s hand.
Geshill walked forward, embracing his daughters as if they'd not seen each other in cycles. Ryl felt an uncontrollable twinge of regret as he watched the greeting. A sudden pang of pain from the unfillable void that resided in him—care of his family’s betrayal—inserted itself into his thoughts. He inhaled a deep, steadying breath, willing the unbridled emotions back into the recesses of his mind.
Would he ever truly be free from the torment of their actions? Nearly ten cycles had now passed … yet the lingering wound remained.
The familial similarities between Geshill and his daughters was readily noted. Their faces all shared common features. The young women maintained a similar, rigid pointed chin to that of their father and their high cheek bones seemed to pull their lips into a perpetual grin. Geshill had tears in his eyes the previous night when he reminisced about times past. In his view, they were both spitting images of the sister that had been stolen away so many cycles earlier.
Zayah, the eldest, was also the taller of the two siblings. Like her younger sister, her brown hair was tied into a neat braid that ran down her back. She separated from her father’s brief embrace, looking over the motley crew gathered in the yard.
Ryl had remained with his hood down since the morning's encounter with the hunters. He watched as the expression on her face grew momentarily into one of shock. Her kind, brown eyes widened briefly as they traveled to the marked skin on his neck before she regained control over her emotions. A sympathetic and honest smile grew across her face.
“Come, you must all be hungry? It shouldn’t be long now. There’s enough to feed everyone,” Zayah’s voice was quiet, yet genuinely inviting.
Geshill nodded to his daughters before leading the phrenics and their mounts around the back of the house toward the stable in the distance.
Ryl followed the sisters, Rolan and Faya into the farmhouse. The warmth of the interior and the smell of the meal was exhilarating, though it sapped the remaining strength from both the newcomers. Rolan stifled a large yawn as they entered the building. Faya leaned wearily against her father’s leg.
Not only had the sisters launched into the manufacture of the cloaks, they'd eagerly taken on the tasks of cooking for the group secreted away at their father’s farm. The excursion to the town that morning had been fruitful on several fronts. Ryl had succeeded in saving the father and his daughter from a tragic fate at the hands of the hunters while Aldren and Geshill had covertly restocked their dwindling supplies. Not only was food ready for the party from Vim, pots of broth were brewing to feed the ailing tributes that had been rescued from the facility in the shadow of the Martrion ruins.
Aldren was stirring a pot on the large stove that rested along the side wall of the kitchen as the group entered. His face was awash with relief as he noted the entrance of Ryl and the family. He greeted Rolan and Faya kindly before making his way to Ryl. He did his best to hide the moisture that was welling in his eyes as he placed his hand on the phrenic’s shoulder, giving it a knowing squeeze. No words were necessary.
Ryl nodded his understanding.
Willa approached Rolan and Faya introducing herself politely before kneeling before the child. She spoke in a tone that was kind, sympathetic yet not at all patronizing. Within moments, she’d coaxed the child's hand from around her father’s leg, leading her gently to a chair along the table. Rolan smiled as he followed in their wake. Ryl knew not when the pair had last eaten a decent meal. Both were emaciated past the point of merely having a skinny frame.
“Please, eat. There’s no need to wait for the rest of us,” Zayah announced kindly. “From the little we’ve heard, you’ve weathered more than your share of trials. A hot meal will do you wonders.”
“Thank you for your kindness. All of you,” Rolan whispered as he looked around the room. His eyes met with all assembled, meeting Ryl’s last. “We owe you our lives.”
Ryl smiled calmly at the father before his eyes moved to Faya who was hastily devouring her food at his side. Inside his body, the blood raced with emotion.
“You owe us nothing, my friend,” Ryl admitted honestly. “It’s fate we have to thank that our paths crossed when they did. Your lives are your own to live as you please.”
The father looked at Faya before hanging his head slightly. He could sense the tension and apprehension growing within him.
“Where are we to go? What are we to do?” he pleaded. “They won’t abandon chase so easily. Though they may have been halted today, how long will it be until more come?”
The events of the day had unfolded at a startling pace. Ryl had been too consumed in the moment to ponder the long-reaching implications of their situation. Though they’d scored a decisive victory today, the hunters would never give up.
How long would it be before the Lei Guard was employed to track the wayward tribute? When the wreckage of the hunters was discovered, he guessed the answer would be: not long. With even a rudimentary ability to track the alexen in the tributes, there was nowhere they could hide that would be safe.
It was only a matter of time before they were discovered.
Before Rolan was slaughtered and Faya was hauled in chains to The Stocks.
Ryl clenched his fists together tight enough that his knuckles went white. He’d not saved them so that they could continue living their lives in fear of the next hunter’s blade. The answer to the problem at hand was startlingly clear.
There was nowhere in Damaris that would be safe for the pair of them.
If remaining in the Kingdom would be akin to a death sentence, then there was little choice left.
Rolan and Faya would come with them.
“It’s true, there will likely be nowhere safe for you in the entirety of the Kingdom,” Ryl stated plainly, though a mischievous smile crept steadily across his face. “That’s why you should come with us.”
Faya dropped her spoon into her bowl; the clink of metal on the pottery rang throughout the room. She looked at Ryl, her blue eyes boring into him.
“Where will we go then if not Damaris?” Rolan asked.
“Somewhere they won’t dare follow,” Ryl responded. “The Outlands.”
Chapter 14
Ryl had waited until the majority of the party had been assembled, fed and Faya had been put to bed before detailing the bulk of his plan. Geshill had generously offered the use of one of the spare rooms in his farmhouse to Rolan and his daughter. The rest of the group was more than content to sleep on the floor or even the hard, swept ground of the stable.
Understandably, Rolan was initially hesitant at the prospects that were presented to him. He went to sleep that night with a profound decision weighing on his mind. Though Rolan’s knowledge of the true skills of the phrenics was lacking, Ryl had detailed his plan for them to accompany the party to The Stocks then the Outlands beyond. It had been less than a day since their rescue from the jaws of certain demise by a stranger whose power was simply awe inspiring. Whose power was terrifying. Rolan had willingly sacrificed everything to keep Faya as far away from The Stocks as possible. Defeat within those walls was nearly certain. Ryl intended to bring them to the Outlands beyond. To most, death there was assured.
The uninterrupted, relaxed slumber was a boon for Rolan and Faya. They both awoke the next day with a renewed vigor that Ryl was sure had been absent from their steps for a long time. Having seemingly nothing more to lose than what had already been taken from him, the father admitted that the decision had been easier than he’d expected. After conversing with Faya, they were both in agreement. The Kingdom of Damaris no longer held the prospect of a life for them.
They would bind themselves to Ryl and his companions. The hope of a better future in the wilds of the Outlands, though nearly unbelievable, was no less risky than remaining in Damaris. Though it was an idea of his own creation, Ryl felt a twinge of regret as their numbers swelled further. How many lives now remained figuratively in the palm of his hand and at the whim of his planning?
Ryl, Andr, the phrenics and the Vigil had been intentionally vague with their new companions when it came to their plans after The Stocks. The secrets of Vim, of the hidden society, would remain veiled if possible until the wall of the western palisade was behind them. The newcomers knew that their destination lay beyond the realm of known civilization and little more.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent blissfully devoid of excitement. Zayah and Willa worked diligently to complete the seven cloaks, a feat they accomplished ahead of schedule. The black shrouds were expertly fitted to the members of the party who were to carry out the charade. The cloaks had been crafted in the image of the only remaining original article Elias had worn during the battle on the ill-fated bridge outside of Serrate.
Aldren’s daughters had willingly agreed to remain at the farm beyond their duties assembling the clothing. Their extra services were well appreciated as the number of mouths to feed had swelled dramatically. Elias and the ailing tributes were becoming marginally more lucid as time passed, though their recovery was far slower than Ryl had hoped. The feeding regimens had increased, requiring another brief trip to Milstead to restock on supplies. Though still painfully emaciated, the tributes appeared to be making a positive turn toward physical recovery. The paleness of their skin had been replaced with a muted tinge of pink. Their bones, though still clearly visible, no longer appeared as if they would puncture their skin at any moment.
Of the group, Elias remained the only one to have opened his eyes, having done so on a few occasions. His gaze was unfocused as it regarded the surroundings momentarily before staring, unblinking, off into nothingness. He was unresponsive either to questioning or to touch.
Ryl was concerned for his friend, or at least what remained of him. The glow that he’d expected to see from Elias was still alarmingly absent. In its place was either a light so faint that it was nearly imperceptible, or more frequently a nothingness that defied explanation. He appeared to Ryl as a void, neither light nor dark but the disturbing, incomprehensible absence of either.
He feared for him.
Faya continued to impress Ryl and the phrenics with her ability to interact with her surroundings even though her eyes were blind. Her lack of sight had augmented her mindsight far beyond the point that any could have believed. The young girl had an uncanny knack of moving her way through her environment without being reliant on assistance from others. She spent as much time with the phrenics as her father or their duties allowed, though her preference found her primarily seeking out either Ryl or Kaep.
They had taken to instilling in her the basics of communicating through her projected emotions. Faya had accepted the training as if her mind had been starving for sustenance that only learning could provide. Within the span of an afternoon, she was confident in her ability to convey her feelings to others within close proximity.
The party had maintained a regimented patrol taking in the narrow road approaching Geshill’s farm as well as the surrounding landscape. The traffic on the road to and from Milstead was moderate, yet spoke of nothing more than the mundane commercial ventures of the prized spirit that was distilled in her midst. If hunters had arrived seeking their missing compatriots, their presence hadn’t been noted.
Ryl woke e
arly before the sun had cleared the horizon to the east spilling the light of day over Geshill’s farm. His watch over the tributes and Elias the previous night had ended late, yet even on the short rest, he felt rejuvenated; eager for the day to commence.
He stretched as he rose from his position on the floor of the loft above the stable, mindful not to hit his head on the low rafters. He slouched over as he walked, brushing the errant pieces of straw from his cloak. For some reason this morning, the pitched ceilings of the stables reminded him of the small room he’d called home for the first eight cycles of his life. Growing up, he’d slept in the tiny attic loft of his family’s home. The memory was unwelcome and startlingly surprising. He’d not thought about that house for cycles.
Ryl made a brief inspection of his pack before carefully strapping his leather holster with the Leaves onto the small of his back. He’d slept in his phrenic cloak as had become his norm since leaving the comfort of Vim behind. His pack contained nothing more than a change of clothes, a water skin, carefully packed rations and his portion of the dried leaves of the blighted rose—thankfully sealed to prevent the potent, noxious odor from escaping.
He made his way quietly down the narrow ladder from the loft. Ramm, who was seated in a chair between the two wagons, greeted him with a smile as he approached. The normal sized chair seemed disproportionately small compared to the massive phrenic that occupied its seat. Ramm stood, holding his hand out, clasping Ryl’s as soon as it was in reach.
“Ride safe,” the phrenic said, his voice stern yet compassionate. “This is a battle we fight together. Do not take on the Kingdom alone.”
“That is a promise, my friend,” Ryl admitted, patting the giant phrenic on the shoulder.
He peered through the low, steady torchlight into the wagons, his gaze sweeping over the tributes that still lay in their midst. His eyes lingered once they reached Elias.
“We’ll watch over them,” Ramm said quietly. “See you in two days.”