Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3)

by C. J. Aaron

  The tributes and the guards roused by his warning, were frozen in place. Ramm and Vox charged forward from square, while Kaep was the closest, nearly past the stables.

  They'd never reach his side in time.

  Ryl stood alone in the nexus. His feet were planted firmly in the center of the stone circle. The pacifying green apparitions of the phrenics had long since passed—the alexen were nowhere to be found. In their place, only wispy black figures remained.

  The dichotomy of the area had failed.

  The vivid picture burned into his recollection from his awakening had been catastrophically altered. The sky had been divided at its zenith into two starkly contrasting worlds; toward one horizon there had been vibrant fields of wild grasses and trees laden with fruit. The living, green peaks of mountains rolled onward, silhouetted against the azure shades of a brilliant blue sky. A burning orb of yellow had shone life over the terrain.

  Toward the other, the terrain had been sterile. A fractured wasteland of jagged peaks and drab brown. Stunted and withered bushes dotted the barren fields, their blood red flowers the only glimpse of color against the monochrome soil. The black sun overhead had been cold, draining the life and color from its surroundings.

  Now, the lifeless wastes of the barren land spread in all directions. The colorless vacuum of the dead sun had swelled as the pale sky encroached over the air that once was blue. The life of the mountains and plains had been leached from the soil. All that was once green had been replaced by the browning of rot and death. The fields of wild grasses were shriveled, and the withered husks of dying trees and bushes leaned lifelessly to the sides. Rotting fruit littered the ground where they’d fallen. The life-giving yellow sun was nothing more than a pinpoint of light, surrounded by a receding halo of blue.

  The only color that remained were the blood red flowers that spread from the expanse of the dead terrain. Their bloodied petals dripped in a sporadic cadence, the accumulation of their drops trickling downhill to the stone circle where he stood.

  Ryl’s eyes were hesitant to leave the wispy, blackened shadows that encircled him. He risked a cautious glance at the ground at his feet.

  The smoothed stone flooring was now drenched in a thick pool of crimson blood.

  Ryl's view simultaneously flashed between both worlds. The agony in his body grew as the alexen streamed into his left arm. The glowing orb in his palm expanded, the weight increased as it grew. He strained to support its mounting mass.

  For an instant, the Lei Guard paused, remaining momentarily frozen, eyes fixed on the blinding ball of light. With a shriek of anger, they drew their swords as one. The wicked, biting song of their blades rang out. The hatred, the doubt, the hopelessness slammed into him with an indefensible force.

  The massing power had consumed too much of his strength. It had leached too much from the rest of his body, as if all his remaining energy had been diverted to sustaining his raised arm. His legs buckled under the assault. The weight of the light drove him downward.

  He felt his control of the blinding ball of purifying energy slipping.

  In slow motion he watched as the Lei Guard charged forward like a seething wave of blackness coming to seal his doom.

  Ryl's head fell back, his eyes captured a momentary view of the churning clouds in the sky overhead. They swirled in a vortex of agitated wrath. He slammed his eyes shut, squeezing them together with all his might as he collapsed to his knees under the pain and the weight. He opened his mouth; the scream that came out was startling.

  Gone were the innumerable voices.

  The Cries of the Fallen.

  The scream was his own.

  It was ragged. It was tortured. It was desperate.

  The hungry blades of the corrupted black warriors moved closer. They were eager. They could sense his defeat. They longed for his death.

  The ball of light began to flicker and wobble as it crushed him under its mass. Ryl could feel his control slipping. The images that flashed into his vision were fractured, yet the overwhelming sorrow was apparent. There would be no surviving this onslaught.

  Through the blackness of the shadows that disguised their blackened faces, he could see the wicked grins of the Lei Guard.

  The approaching arc of the enemy front was less than five meters away when the agonizing burn of the power massing in his left arm paused abruptly. From a single point on his bicep, a jolt of energy rushed outward. The influx of sensation felt energizing. At the same time, its calming sensation converted the pain into raw power, as if his body found that which it was missing.

  Understanding.

  In that instant, the answer to the questions surrounding the tattoos on his left arm became shockingly apparent.

  The ball of light flashed with a pulse of energy that exploded outward. The Lei Guard staggered as the shockwave tore through their ranks. Their approach faltered; their terrifying speed reduced to nothing. Their bodies were frozen in place as if they were no more alive than the statue of Taben the Defender who towered over the scene.

  Ryl examined their line as the moments stretched on, his eyes ending on the point at which the calm in his body originated. There were fingers wrapped around his arm in a gentle, yet frantic embrace. Ryl traced the line of the arm, meeting eyes with the face at its end.

  It was Kaep.

  Her look was one of pain. There was a sorrow whose depths had no end.

  Yet, there was hope.

  Ryl turned his vision back to the guard. Though mere twitches, their approach renewed.

  Ryl grinned as he rose to his feet, lifting the innumerable mass of the ball of energy above him as if it weighed no more than a feather. The orb of light hung suspended in the air, just above his hand. For a moment it was still. It was silent.

  Only for a moment.

  The ball began spinning wildly in place. As the rotation increased its speed, so too did the sound. The high-pitched noise started as a wail, yet quickly progressed into a thunderous roar. Ryl could feel the wind it created rush around him.

  The wicked blades of the Lei Guard around him prepped for their killing strikes.

  Ryl's hand closed into a fist, latching onto the invisible tail that connected the energy sphere to himself. With the last of his remaining strength, he wrenched his hand downward. The seething ball of energy plummeted to the earth in front of his feet. His body went limp, collapsing as the last of Kaep's fingers slipped from his arm.

  The orb detonated with blinding white, earth shattering force.

  Epilogue

  Pillars of light streamed down from above in beams of glowing white. The shafts illuminated small circles where they landed, though the rest of the room appeared dim and gloomy.

  Ryl's eyes burned as he blinked to adjust them to the influx of light. How long had they been closed?

  Lying flat on his back, he closed his eyes again, inhaling a deep breath. His mind was anticipating pain that was surprisingly absent. Ryl took a moment to take mental stock of his body. He wiggled his toes, flexed the muscles in his legs and arms and squeezed his hands into and out of fists.

  There was no pain. His body felt healthy, yet there was a lingering chill that felt like it covered the entirety of his body in an icy blanket. How long had he been lying like this?

  Where was he?

  Ryl sat up with ease, gasping at the sight before his eyes. He had been resting on a thin straw cot. His phrenic cloak had been draped over his body acting as a blanket of sorts.

  There were few details he could gleam from the dimly lit chamber. The roof and walls of the chamber he was in appeared to be made from the massive roots of a giant tree. The breath of relief that floated into his senses confirmed his immediate suspicion.

  He was still in the Erlyn.

  Around each beam of light lay the still bodies of men and women. He gasped, activating his mindsight. The light-yellow glow emanating from the bodies was a relief.

  They still lived.

  "Wondered when
you'd wake," the voice from over his shoulder was startling, yet recognized immediately.

  Andr walked to his side, kneeling at the edge of his small cot.

  "What happened?" Ryl whispered in response. His voice was scratchy, it sounded different, a shade darker than he'd grown accustomed to hearing.

  "All the tributes have been undergoing the remedy for a little over a week," Andr explained. "Their suffering is much more manageable than yours was. The last of them lost consciousness the day before last."

  There was something off to his voice as well. Though its timbre was familiar, there was an undeniable tone of hesitation and remorse.

  "What of the Lei Guard? What of the tributes? Were any lost?" Ryl blurted out as momentary panic struck him. Andr placed a calming hand on his shoulder as he tried to rise to his feet.

  "Fear not, none were harmed in the initial attack," he admitted, surprise flavoring the words that rolled from his lips. "The Lei Guard remain unharmed. The Erlyn has seen to their care. She’s led us here."

  The hints of his apprehension grew with every word.

  "Something's happened," Ryl added, more of a statement than a question.

  Andr sighed, lowering his head as he responded.

  "Aye. There has," he acknowledged. "It's Elias. He's gone."

  The deluge of emotions that ran through Ryl in that instant ranged from infinite loss to anger to confusion. They'd been reunited for less than a moon. What cruel fate had robbed him of his friend so soon? What had happened?

  It took Ryl a moment before he could settle the questions that rampaged through his mind. He opened his mouth to speak, but Andr interrupted the silence first.

  He was wholly unprepared for the words that registered in his ears.

  "There's more," Andr lamented.

  "He has Kaep."

  FROM THE PUBLISHER

  Thank you for reading Ghost of the Erlyn, book three in Catalyst.

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  ALSO IN SERIES

  A TRIBUTE AT THE GATES

  FULCRUM OF LIGHT

  GHOSTS OF THE ERYLN

  About the Author

  CJ Aaron is an American Fantasy Author who relocated from the four seasons of the northeast to the nearly perpetual sauna of the third coast.

  When he isn’t writing fantasy, you can find him working as a jack of all trades in the digital world or spending time with his wife, two children, two dogs, two cats and an ever-changing menagerie of foster animals.

  Raised on a steady diet of fantasy and science fiction, he is still an avid reader, lover of movies, video games and pretending to be a musician.

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