A Tribute at the Gates

by C. J. Aaron

  “If this poison was created by human hands, surely there is a remedy for it,” Ryl interjected.

  “Clever,” Da’agryn said with a smile. “There is, in fact, a counteragent for the poison, found only in the bloom of a plant called the blighted rose. This parasitic plant is not native to this land, found only in the jungles of Naswer, far to the south.”

  Ryl lowered his gaze momentarily before raising his head, meeting Da’agryn’s patient stare.

  “You see, the plant is notoriously tricky to cultivate,” he continued. “The climate here is too cold for the plant to survive long. The blighted rose feeds off the roots of all others around it. A single plant can destroy all surrounding growth for several paces. The bloom emits a potent smell of rotting carrion and death. Growing the plant has been outlawed within Damaris. A crime punishable by death.”

  He made his way to his pallet, grabbing a spare blanket and tossing it to Ryl. Dust blew into his face, carrying on the forward motion as he caught the cloth with both hands.

  “It's not the most comfortable, but I’m afraid it's the best I can offer,” Da'agryn sighed as he motioned toward the second pallet.

  He unfastened his cloak, folding it into a makeshift pillow. His arms still looked muscular and defined for his age, the short sleeve on his right arm was removed entirely. His arm, instead, was covered in a complex pattern of tattoos from shoulder to just above the wrist.

  Tattoos were not uncommon by any means, yet the quality of artwork on Da'agryn’s arm was exquisite. An intricate and complex design of swirls, lines and dots and roughly geometric shapes were woven together into a single cohesive masterpiece. Ryl felt as if he could study the design for hours without even scratching the surface of it elements. The markings still looked clear and unfaded as if they were freshly applied. The tattoo fit his arm so well that the ink appeared as if it were a natural discoloration of the skin.

  “These were once a symbol of immense pride,” Da'agryn said remorsefully, rubbing his left hand over his tattooed arm. “Their meaning has been all but lost to time, a figment of a bygone era.”

  He sat on the stone bench, stirring the fire briefly with a stick.

  “These tattoos represent much more than just the designs you see here,” he continued. “Once awakened, your sect, on in the rare case multiple sects were required, would be imprinted on your arm. To the passerby, the tattoos were just another design. To the phrenic, those who could understand their detailed complexities, they told your story.”

  “What story do your tattoos tell?” Ryl asked, his curiosity again piqued.

  “That, my friend, is a tale for another time,” Da'agryn replied curtly. “There was a time that these markings were worn in the open with pride. The traditional cloak of a phrenic always featured a hood, connected to a high collar. The dominant arm was always left exposed.”

  “Why would the dominant arm need to be left exposed?” Ryl questioned.

  “Aside from a means of identification among their peers, there were some specialties within the physical and elemental sects that were inhibited by fabric covering the skin,” Da'agryn explained.

  Before Ryl could continue asking questions, Da'agryn continued, a sense of profound sorrow filling his voice.

  “Now, you must rest, Ryl,” he stated. “You have questions, and I promise all will be answered in time. Regrettably, our time together will be short. Tomorrow, I have one last lesson for you, and then I must take my leave, and you must get to you assignment before you are missed.”

  “What?” Ryl gasped. “You're leaving already? Does that mean there's a way out of here?”

  A hope he had long suppressed surged through him.

  “I’m afraid there is but one way out of The Stocks for you, Ryl,” Da'agryn sighed. “That is through your Harvest.”

  Ryl shrunk back down against the rock, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping both arms around them. The hope he had felt moments earlier was replaced by an emptiness that coursed through his body, chilling him to the core.

  Da'agryn circled around the fire, kneeling next to Ryl, placing his hand tenderly on his shoulder.

  “Now, as for the fate of the other tributes, that is the true question. That answer will be up to you, Ryl,” Da'agryn said compassionately, a mischievous smile growing on his face.

  “You will be the catalyst.”

  14

  Ryl’s head was overflowing with thoughts, yet sleep found him almost immediately. That night, he again did battle with the nightmares that regularly plagued his sleep.

  He toyed with the shadowed figure, letting it get within arm’s reach before he sped away. He outran the shadow that pursued him with ease, laughter rolling like thunder from his lips.

  He was alone in the blackness of a void, his body emanating a soft yellow glow. Ryl feared not the hands that reached for him, his placid gaze pointed forward into the blackness. There was no need to look. He could feel their movements. Their black outlines stood out against the darkness of the void. Ryl waited until their claws reached out to strike before removing the damper that shrouded his body. He blazed with the light and power of the sun, their hands incinerated to dust, blowing away into the nothingness of the void.

  The aroma woke Ryl from his dreams. He rolled over, rubbing his eyes, letting out a yawn before searching for the cause of the smell. Another cooked fish awaited him on the spit. Panic took hold as he realized he was alone in the cavern. Had Da'agryn left him already?

  Ryl sprang to his feet, surprised at how refreshed he felt. His muscles felt more relaxed, his mind clearer, overall the entirety of his body felt more rejuvenated and energized. A pleasant voice greeted him from the entrance to the cave. He was surprised at how released he felt.

  “Good morning, Ryl,” Da'agryn said. “Your food is waiting for you. Do hurry though. The sun has just about cleared the palisade and there is still much to do. I’ll be in the clearing outside when you're ready.”

  With that, he turned and exited, leaving Ryl to finish his breakfast.

  Fish was a delicacy the tributes were rarely able to enjoy. Ryl quickly savored every bite before starting out the tunnel from the cavern. Instead of the path he had walked in on, Ryl exited to a small clearing, carpeted by a blanket of tall green grass.

  The forest was brighter here than anywhere else he’d witnessed and felt dramatically more alive. The ground under his feet pulsed with energy, like a heart pumping out blood, spreading it out to the surrounding woods.

  Ryl could see the sky above through a hole in the canopy. A pleasant breeze gently swayed the branches of the trees, knocking loose an occasional leaf. The noise of the rustling leaves had almost a vocal quality, sounding as if the trees were conversing in whispered tones.

  Da'agryn awaited his arrival on the opposite side of the clearing, standing patiently with his hands clasped behind his back. Beside him was an enormous tree the likes of which Ryl had never seen. The trunk was nearly five paces wide, wrapped in an irregular pattern of thick, brown thorny vines, the tops of which were covered almost entirely in moss. The tree must have been hundreds of paces tall, the top disappearing through the canopy as it stretched into the sky above.

  “This is truly a sacred place,” Da’agryn intoned. The reverence in his voice was palpable.

  “Few have seen this sanctuary,” he continued, “and fewer still have been offered the boon which you are about to receive.”

  Ryl who had been slowly making his way across the clearing, lost in the tranquil beauty of it, stopped abruptly at the statement.

  “What boon am I to receive?” Ryl asked curiously. “And why me?”

  “As for the nature of the gift, that is for the Erlyn to decide,” Da'agryn replied. “As to why you are being chosen, that answer lies within your blood.”

  Ryl looked at Da’agryn questioningly, waiting for him to continue.

  “You are the first to be found with active alexen in well over one thousand cycles,” he continued. �
�You have a destiny to fulfill, whether you choose to believe it or not. The Erlyn intends to grant you all the support she can.”

  Da'agryn approached, placing his hands on Ryl’s shoulders, looking directly into his eyes. Fierce determination was written across the man’s face.

  “Think back to the history you've now learned. Who were the first of the phrenic to disappear?” he quizzed.

  Ryl thought for a moment, realization dawning on him.

  “The seers,” Ryl answered. The truth sent a surge of anger through him. “They were taken for their power. They were silencing them before they could spread the warning.”

  “Yes, Ryl,” Da'agryn answered, nodding his head sadly. “The seers. They were betrayed by one of our own, as all phrenics were. One who knew how to identify us by more than a tattoo alone.”

  “The last of the great seers, a women by the name of Lupl, shared a vision on her deathbed,” he continued somberly. Ryl could feel the sadness growing with every word. “A vision that has come to be known as the Catalyst Prophecy.”

  “The phrenic will balance on a blade's edge, clinging desperately to their ideals, teetering on the verge of oblivion. On this precipice, one will come with active blood. This one will be the catalyst. The wind behind our sails to push us through the storm to calmer waters. The light needed to guide us home through the darkness. Only the blood of the catalyst will set us free.”

  “How has this prophecy not been lost to time?” Ryl asked skeptically.

  “There are some words powerful enough to endure the ages,” Da’agryn interjected. “Some words you never forget hearing.”

  He trailed off as his gaze wandered to the forest.

  Ryl paused for a moment before responding, letting his words sink in.

  “Were you confined to The Stocks with her as well?” Ryl asked.

  “No,” he said shortly. “I come and go when I please, but I’ve called this forest my home for nearly a long as I can remember. It was with considerable effort that we transported her from our sliver of Cadsae to the Erlyn. She departed this world under the bows of this very tree, a smile in her heart knowing that the catalyst would one day come.”

  “What can I hope to do?” Ryl’s head hung low, dejected.

  He felt as if the weight of the world had been shifted onto his shoulders, and he was being crushed underneath.

  “What hope do I bring if my only way out of this prison is through my Harvest?” Ryl groaned.

  “You must never give up hope, Ryl,” Da’agryn answered, dogged determination in his voice. “You will one day accept the path you must now walk. I know you did not choose this life, yet it was given to you. And it will be a heavy burden to bear. Yet, the prophecy is vague on the roll the catalyst will play. Will you be a hero of legend, or will you help teach those with the power to take the steps for you? That is for you to decide.”

  Da’agryn stood tall, striking an imposing frame despite his age.

  “Know that you are not alone in this world,” he continued. “There are still those who do not hold any ill will against the phrenic, or tributes. You will find you have more allies than you think.”

  Before Ryl could get in another word, Da'agryn gently prodded him in the direction of the large tree.

  “The Erlyn waits,” he implored.

  As Ryl approached the great tree, the throbbing underfoot became more powerful, its rhythm slowly increasing the closer he moved. Nearly a pace above the ground, the large vines crossed over one another, crossing again nearly a foot above that. What appeared to be merely a shadow in between the crossing vines, on closer examination, turned out to be a small opening, recessed into the tree. One large thorn guarded the opening from the vine on the right.

  Ryl squinted his eyes trying to make sense of the inside of the hole. The indentation continued into the tree for approximately a foot, ending in a wall of smooth pale wood, glistening with moisture. The hole had a flat bottom, the first half showcasing the thickness of the great tree’s bark. Centered in the middle of the remaining space, a small pool full to the brim with liquid shimmered in the low light.

  As Ryl watched, a small drip of liquid formed around the hint of a stalactite on the roof on the indentation. The droplet swelled and stretched. When it could hold no more, it broke free, slowly separating itself with a gelatinous consistency, falling into the tiny pool below. The liquid made no splash, emitting a barely audible slapping sound as the drop struck the surface. It immediately merged with the liquid inside the pool. Ripples stretched out in every direction, quickly dissipating to a calm motion.

  Ryl looked from the tree to Da'agryn, who stood silently beside him, his face beaming with reverence.

  “What am I to do now?” Ryl asked curiously.

  “What you are looking at is the heart of the Erlyn,” Da'agryn replied. “That sap you see in that pool is akin to her life blood. Just as she offers it to you, you must return it with blood of your own.”

  Ryl involuntarily pulled his hands inward, clutching them against his chest.

  “Fear not, my friend,” Da'agryn assured. “Only a drop is needed. All you need to do is prick your finger on the thorn, just enough to draw a drop of blood.”

  Da'agryn paused, studying Ryl's reaction as if reading his mind.

  “This is a gift, not a contract,” he continued. “While there is nothing required of you, know that you will be forever bound to her. You will feel every axe stroke against her trees, you will mourn every fallen limb, you will feel the heat of every burning branch.”

  Ryl stole a moment to organize his thoughts. So much had changed in the last few days, each development more unbelievable than the last. He stood on the verge of receiving an unknown gift from an ancient forest, forever binding himself to it in the process.

  He thought of the prophecy. Was he truly the catalyst as Da'agryn believed? As the Erlyn believed? Could he live up to their expectations, or was the weight of the burden more than he could sustain?

  Doubt upon doubt filled his head. Fear began to take hold, smothering the hope that had begun growing within under an infinite blackness.

  No.

  Ryl thought of his dreams the night before. Never before had he banished the nightmares. The feeling was exhilarating. The hope was potent, a drug he could not give up so soon. His body screamed defiance.

  He would not give in to fear. He would not give up hope.

  Ryl strode forward without another thought, his decision made.

  He stabbed his pointer finger down on the barb, squeezing it between his thumb and middle finger, bringing up a drop of crimson blood before plunging it into the cool liquid.

  15

  Ryl stared at his hand, fingers submerged in the liquid from the tree. For a moment, nothing happened. Had he done something wrong? As he turned to look at Da'agryn for help, a foreign sensation in his hand diverted his attention.

  The pinprick from the thorn had caused very little pain, yet he now felt as if the hole was stretching in diameter. The pain of his skin tearing shot up his arm. Ryl wrenched his hand out of the hole. His eyes went wide with horror as the entirety of the liquid remained attached to his hand. The pinprick formed the shape of a cross, the skin on his finger flayed back deep enough for Ryl to see the bone.

  “What's happening to me?” Ryl pleaded with Da'agryn, violently shaking his hand to detach the clear gelatinous liquid clinging to it.

  “You must remain calm, Ryl.” Da'agryn's voice had a fatherly reassuring quality to it. “This is a normal part of the process, it will be done soon.”

  The gelatinous liquid from the Erlyn began forcing itself into the open wound on his finger. The tip of his finger swelled, followed by his hand as the substance flowed into his body. Ryl could feel it infuse into his bloodstream, coursing through his veins as it traveled to his heart.

  Ryl felt as if he were being grated from the inside as the mixture rapidly spread throughout him. Every inch of his body was in agony. He tried to scream
only to find his muscles no longer responded to his command.

  He felt his toes sink into the soft, fertile soil. In his mind, Ryl saw them fan out into thin fibers of a root, spreading deeper and deeper into the earth. The tendrils searched until they found the massive root system of the large tree, wrapping themselves around it in an embrace.

  Ryl knew he was connected with the Erlyn. He could feel the heat from the sun on the leaves atop the canopy, felt the breeze gently swaying the trees side to side. The footsteps of the lone patrol passing along the road echoed in his mind. He felt the tree pumping life outward to the forest. With a jolt, he felt the surge of energy pass from the tree through his roots racing up to his feet.

  Starting at his toes, Ryl’s skin began to solidify, crusting over into a skin-colored bark. From his feet, the bark moved slowly upward, covering his knees, then his waist, then his chest. Ryl began to panic as the crust steadily enveloped his face, finishing with the top of his skull.

  Ryl had lost all control of his own senses with the exception of his eyes. Da'agryn stood transfixed, watching with a visible sense of wonder. Ryl was one with the Erlyn.

  For a moment that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, all was still. The pain was gone, Ryl was at peace.

  Another jolt of energy similar to the first shot from the Erlyn, snapping his tendrils from those of the great tree. A wave of intense heat started in his toes, racing upward, rapidly engulfing his body. He felt as if he were boiling from the inside. His vision blurred to white before his eyes involuntarily clamped shut.

  Teardrops of moisture separated from the tips of the leaves high above, falling into the clearing below. Each droplet stuck with the force of a hammer, sending reverberations through every inch of Ryl's body. The droplets brought abatement from the agony, spreading a cooling relief that radiated outward like a wave from where they struck.