Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3)

by C. J. Aaron

  “Can we expect more support given your ... desertion?” Ryl asked. He was hesitant to use the word. Though he grasped at understanding, he couldn’t hope to comprehend what the captain had lost as a result of his current decision.

  For what had he traded his life?

  “At this speed, we should reach Thayers Rest before dark,” Ryl spoke, changing the subject as he ran an idea past the captain. “We need to care for the wounded that came with us. Let them sleep early. We’ll move again under the cover of darkness once the eyes from the Palisades have been blinded.”

  “We’ll have to slow them down further,” Le’Dral allowed the small smile to cross his face.

  Ryl clapped the captain on the shoulder, meeting his eyes with a grin.

  “Vox, care to put the strength of the bridge to the test?” he called.

  The phrenic nodded his head subtly before stepping away from the group.

  “There’ll be no bridges left in Damaris before you’re through,” Ramm mumbled as the elementalist strode forward, eyeing the doomed bridge hungrily. A look of curiosity spread across Le’Dral’s face. Ryl merely shrugged his shoulders.

  Vox stalked his way toward the bridge flexing his left hand repeatedly.

  The wooden bridge itself was rudimentary in design, having only to span a ten meter wide section of the gently flowing river. Easily wide enough to fit a single wagon across its span it featured no railings on either side. Four large sections of timber spanned the gap, supported by a single wooden column in the middle. Crude, yet smoother panels were hammered down perpendicular to the beams forming the road’s surface.

  The phrenic stopped as his feet made contact with the first wooden panel of the bridge. Ryl could see the air around his left arm begin to distort as the heat intensified. A moment later, the flames began dancing down his tattooed arm, crackling quietly as they grew. From a few meters back, Ryl could feel the searing heat as the gout of fire exploded from Vox’s arm. The long, thin line splashed like water as it struck the wooden planks of the bridge, lighting everything it touched aflame. With a second pass of his arm, the entire center section of the bridge burned as it was rapidly devoured by the greedy flames. Ryl, the captain, and the phrenics moved a step back as the heat from the blaze grew. Only Vox remained where he stood, though he wobbled somewhat erratically.

  The snapping of the timber along the outer edge of the bridge heralded its downfall. With a deafening crack, the log split in two. The ravaged planks and neighboring beams, weakened by the fire that ate at their core, snapped in succession. The burning wood hissed, releasing clouds of steam as they hit the surface of the water. A few moments later, the last of the timbers gave way, splashing into the river below. Vox turned back to face the group, sunlight illuminating the satisfied smile under the shadow of his hood.

  From both sides of the banks, the bridge had been destroyed to within a few steps from the edge. Though the water was calm, it ran deep at this location, making crossing on foot a precarious and tedious undertaking. The nearest shallows were many miles to the north. The nearest bridge was further than that. Ryl was satisfied that they’d bought themselves time.

  But how long?

  Without another word, they turned, quickly following their retreating companions. In the middle of the river, the center pillar, the lone standing support of the bridge, burned quietly.

  Chapter 27

  After razing the bridge, Ryl, the phrenics and Captain Le’Dral quickly caught up with the rest of the caravan that had slowed a short distance further up the narrow road. With their addition, the rapid march resumed onward unmolested, though the eyes of many frequently turned back to the south, cautiously searching for any sign of pursuit.

  It was well past midday when they approached the small work camp. The last time Ryl had been here, he and Cavlin had slipped silently into the night. Le’Dral had set fire to the rundown boarding house—faking Ryl’s death in the fire. The new structure that had been raised from the ashes of the original, though roughly the same dimension, was a far cry from its predecessor. Ryl saw no gaps between the wooden planks that lined the walls, no poorly maintained repair used as sutures for an ailing building.

  His eyes wandered the area before falling on the captain, who was silhouetted against the light soil of the newly harvested crops on Thayers Hill. Le’Dral had stayed true to his word. The work camp had been rebuilt with more care and respect for those who would inhabit it throughout the cycles.

  Nearly half of Le’Dral’s guards had fanned out in a rough circle a few hundred meters from the camp. The line was porous yet would have to suffice; giving warning in the eventuality of an assault in the night. The others quickly went to work constructing a fire. A few of the idle guards even moved among the tributes seeking to assist them in whatever manner they required.

  Ryl could see the skeptical eyes of the tributes following them as they walked through their midst. Like Ryl, their entire perspective of the world they lived in had changed in a matter of moments. The veil of ignorance had been pierced, though it would still be time before they had a clear understanding of the true state of things. For both the tributes and Le’Dral’s guards, acceptance of the change would come with time.

  His full attention was focused on watching the scene unfold before him. He was oblivious to the phrenics who’d stopped by his side. It was Vox who broke the silence.

  “If I’m not mistaken, those are signs of cooperation I see,” the elementalist said quietly.

  “Aye, that they are,” Ryl agreed. “The day has been an eye opener for them all. There is still more to come. I’ll go fetch the mender. Help the Vigil move the tributes. They’ve been cooped up for far too long.”

  The phrenics complied without a word. Ryl followed them for a few meters before splitting off, heading toward the tributes who now swarmed around the small work camp.

  The wagons had come to a final halt just off the side of the earthen road. The cloud of dust continued following their motion, slowly sweeping over them as it dissipated to the north. The Vigil remained guard around the black wagon, and Rolan climbed down from the driver’s seat, assisting young Faya. She yawned carefree as she rested her head on her father’s shoulder. Her eyes grew wide as she noted Ryl’s approach. Their brilliant blue seemed to shine in the late afternoon sun.

  Ryl stopped alongside the pair, placing his hand on Rolan’s shoulder as he spoke.

  “You were very brave, young Faya. I’m proud of you,” he admitted, though his eyes locked with Rolan’s. He’d witnessed the relief that flooded the man’s eyes as soon as his daughter was reunited with him in the square. The smile on Faya’s face grew with the compliment.

  Ryl gently jostled her hair as he eagerly moved on to catch the mender. As he passed the wagon, it was Andr who fell in line, matching him step for step.

  “Have you seen Cray?” Ryl asked softly.

  “Just in passing. Nothing more,” Andr answered. His voice was laced with a touch of sadness. “The time hasn’t been right. That he is alive and in the reach of my protection is enough for the moment.”

  Ryl felt for the mercenary. Cray was all that the man had left from the life that was stolen from him. While he couldn’t fathom the depths of emotion—the overwhelming joy that he must have felt in seeing his boy—Ryl knew that the encounter would have triggered other less jovial feelings as well. The stinging wound from his wife’s betrayal, still fresh though it had been cycles.

  “You’ve languished long enough, my friend,” Ryl said. “I’ll have Sarial fetch him shortly.”

  The mercenary stopped abruptly, opening his mouth as if he was going to speak. He closed his eyes and mouth as he inhaled a deep breath through his nose.

  “No, Ryl. Let us see to the wounded first, then rest,” was his response. “The news, regardless of how he takes it, will be a shock. They will need all the rest they can get. There will be time once we make Tabenville. I’ll make room in the closest supply wagon. We can move some
there; give them room to spread out a bit.”

  Andr clapped him on the shoulder, offering him a genuine, yet forced, smile. Ryl knew the mercenary well enough to understand when the conversation was at a close. This was Andr's decision. Ryl would respect his friend’s opinion no matter what he decided.

  “I’ll bring Jeffers,” Ryl replied. Andr nodded his head affirmatively before moving back

  toward the black wagon.

  By the time he reached the mender’s wagon, Jeffers was in the middle of rearranging his supplies that had been dislocated during the trip. Ryl peered into the wagon at the battered body of Cavlin. The man looked pale, making the discoloration of his bruises all the more striking.

  “How is he, Jeffers?” Ryl asked, announcing his presence to the clearly agitated mender.

  Jeffers looked up, his eyes softening as he noted Ryl.

  “He lost a lot of blood, but he’ll live,” Jeffers sighed. “From the rumor, I hear he has you to thank for that. He’ll bear quite the scar as a reminder.”

  Ryl was beyond relieved to hear the optimistic report from the mender.

  “I was merely in the right place at an opportune time,” he admitted. Fate had truly been kind in allowing him to save the guard. “I had few tools to work with at the time; it was the best I could do.”

  Jeffers straightened himself up from where he leaned over the edge of the wagon, rounding to Ryl’s side. He placed his hands on Ryl’s shoulders, twisting his body to face him. Jeffers’ eyes were serious as they met.

  “He’d be dead if it weren’t for you,” Jeffers whispered.

  Ryl nodded his head subtly in response.

  “I need your skills to help with those we brought with us,” Ryl said. “They’ve shown marked improvement, though their conditions are still ... rough. We know not the full story of the horrors they were subjected to.”

  Jeffers followed Ryl as they walked back toward the black wagon. Sarial and the twins approached from amongst the tributes milling around by the common house.

  “Ryl, the tributes are getting restless, they’re worried,” she spoke softly. He saw her eyes jump quickly to the mender who stood at his side. The hint of joy brightened her face for an instant before it was masked by her self-restraint. “They need to know what lies ahead.”

  Ryl knew she spoke the truth. He sighed as he acknowledged the task that was before him.

  “Aye. Tash, Palon. Spread the word. Gather the tributes. I’ll speak to them after we see to our wounded companions,” Ryl ordered. “Sarial, please come with us. There’s something you need to see.”

  Sarial fell in line with the mender, walking a few steps in front of Ryl. Her arm brushed Jeffers’ ever so slightly as she walked along at his side. The contact was subtle; Ryl only noted it as he found his aware eyes keenly watching their behavior.

  Andr, with the assistance of several idle guards, had emptied nearly half of the wagon of its supplies. Cautious of the mender’s scorn, the guards had been working to catalog and organize the hastily gathered materials.

  Turning the corner of the black wagon, Jeffers and Sarial stopped abruptly in their tracks. Nielix was carefully lowering a litter containing the emaciated body of one of the tributes from the facility down from the back of the wagon. Dav and Soldi were assisting in moving the laden stretcher. Already three tributes lay on the ground behind the wagon; two rested in a sitting position, supported by the large wooden wheel. Though they were conscious, their eyes were unfocused, staring blankly off into the distance.

  Sarial gasped aloud. Jeffers’ eyes widened for an instant before reverting to their habitual look of analytical focus. He hurried to the side of the closest body resting quietly on the ground, beginning his cursory examination immediately.

  “What happened to them?” Jeffers asked as he bent his head down, placing an ear against the man’s chest.

  “We pulled them from the processing facility in the shadow of the Martrion Ruins,” Ryl said. “They had been bound nearly vertical to wooden slabs likely since the cycle burned into their neck.”

  He glanced at the neck of the man who lay unmoving on the ground as the mender examined him. The dark red brand was in stark contrast to his pale, stretched skin.

  H1345.

  This man had likely languished in that facility six cycles. How many vials of the blessed elixir had he produced? How much longer would he have remained before being discarded or corrupted as an initiate of the Lei Guard?

  “Other than the incision and needle that bled them from their arm, we know little of what they were forced to endure,” Ryl admitted. “The menders who oversaw them chose to poison themselves rather than submit to interrogation. We were able to collect a journal from the facility, though it’s written in a code that none of us could read.”

  Jeffers’ head shot up from his examination at the mention of the journal.

  “I’d be interested to see it,” Jeffers interjected excitedly. Ryl could see the wheels of his intellectual mind spinning rapidly at the thoughts of decoding unknown medical or scientific knowledge, no matter how dark it may be.

  Sarial moved to the side of the mender, kneeling beside him, placing her hand delicately on the tribute’s arm.

  “They have names,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone. “His name is Rao.”

  Tears swelled quickly in her eyes. A single, salty drop trickled down her cheek.

  The name sparked remembrance in Ryl. They’d shared a home inside the walls of The Stocks for nearly two cycles. Ryl felt a wave of remorse and regret that he’d failed to recall his name.

  Behind them Vox appeared in the back of the wagon. He bent down, resting the litter on the floor before hopping down and collecting the crude handles once again. Ramm moved quietly to the end of the wagon watching as the next of the tributes was moved. Soldi assisted with the other side of the litter as Vox slid it from the wagon.

  Sarial had raised her head, her tear-filled eyes taking in the tributes lying immobile on litters or sitting, staring into oblivion.

  “I know them all,” she whispered as the tears began to stream again. “They’re but shells of what they once were.”

  Ryl closed his eyes, offering a small, painfully forced smile as he nodded his head.

  Soldi and Vox lay down their newest charge on the short, green grass a meter from where Jeffers and Sarial kneeled. This tribute was lashed to the litter by both his hands and his feet.

  Ryl saw Sarial’s eyes bulge as she recognized the body on the gurney. The tears that had been increasing steadily, ran free like rain pouring from the clouds above. She half stumbled, half crawled to his side, immediately throwing her arms around him. She choked out his name through the wracking sobs that tore through her body.

  “Elias,” she cried. Her pleading eyes turned to Ryl. They were filled with a depth of sadness, anger and pain that Ryl couldn’t hope to understand.

  “Ryl, he was like a brother to you! Why is he bound like this!?” her initial questions were spoken with a tone of animosity that stung Ryl far greater than any wound, any injury he’d sustained. He fell to his knees beside Sarial and Elias, putting his arm gently around the sobbing tribute.

  “What did he do?” her pleading voice was now wrought with fear. The meteoric swing of her emotions was not entirely unsurprising to Ryl. So much had changed so quickly. He was sympathetic.

  More was to come.

  “I didn’t think there was any part of the man we once knew left when we were first reunited. I know not if that man will ever again return,” Ryl stated. He forced the emotion from his voice for fear of it overwhelming him.

  “Life beyond the Harvest has ever been an unknown for those of us who are prisoners of The Stocks,” Ryl continued. “I know now what fate lays beyond those gates. Surely none harbored fantasies of peace; the truth, I’m afraid is far more grim than imaginable. Once the alexen has been drained from their body the shells that are left are repurposed. It’s from these shells the Lei Gu
ard are born.”

  Sarial rocked back on her feet, sitting roughly on the grass by Elias’s side.

  “How’s that possible?” Jeffers intoned as he continued to examine one of the tributes a few steps away. His voice spoke of disbelief. “How could the tributes be capable of such wanton hate and destruction? They’d never rightly serve the King that had kept them enslaved for most of their lives.”

  “I fear the tributes have no say in the matter. Permission is neither asked nor granted,” Ryl spat. He could feel the anger building, igniting the fire that raced through his veins. The infinite sadness he felt at his friend’s fate failed to consume the inferno that now raged inside.

  “It was a lesson learned far too late,” Ryl whispered. “The thirteen that accompanied Elias died by our hands before we learned the truth. They are corrupted. They’ve been tainted. The alexen that flows through them stripped to feed the insatiable desire for power. Replaced by a darkness has haunted our nightmares for a millennium.”

  Jeffers and Sarial stared at him in wide-eyed anticipation.

  “It's called nexela,” Ryl said. “It's the antithesis to the compound that is inherent to every tribute. It's a darkness that courses through their veins. It’s a derivative found in one place and one place alone. The blood of the Outland Horde.”

  Chapter 28

  Sarial refused to leave before checking on every fragile body removed from the wagon. Word traveled fast among the tributes. They came first in pairs. The approach soon became a stampede as they crowded in close, peering over or around the others to view their ailing brethren. Not an eye among them was without tears. Not an eye among them didn’t flash with a hatred that held no bounds as they viewed the wreckage of those who’d shared the same walls.