by C. J. Aaron
The sense of urgency from the Erlyn washed over him, mirroring what he was feeling inside. An involuntary scream of pain escaped his lips as he stretched out to grab the small fruit. Its skin was slick, matching its glossy sheen, while the fruit itself was soft, compressing with Ryl’s gentle squeeze.
He struggled his way forward. The base of the tree was only a pace away, yet it required considerable effort to reach. His shallow breaths came more rapidly. He collapsed into a sitting position, resting his back against the thin tree. The bark was smooth and surprisingly solid, the thin trunk giving no indication of his weight upon it. Ryl's mind wandered momentarily. He had never seen a tree bearing its likeness before.
The urge to cough snapped Ryl’s mind back to reality. With effort, he stifled the feeling. He looked at the fruit, rolling it between his fingers. A persistent sense of urgency flowed from the Erlyn and the desire to eat the fruit was irresistible.
Ryl leaned back against the tree, inclining his head slightly. The opening in the forest’s canopy above showed a sky that was clear blue. The sun overhead beat down on the small umbrella that the tree created. He savored the sight for a second before closing his eyes, tossing the fruit into his mouth.
Ryl bit into the small fruit. The skin was remarkably tough. The fruit stretched until finally tearing open, releasing a surprising amount of gelatinous liquid. The thick liquid tasted unlike anything he had experienced before, a confusing mixture that was tasteless one moment, then sweet the next. Ryl nearly gagged as the liquid slid down his throat, coating the walls with a refreshingly cool tingling sensation. The flesh that had been tough and elastic at first now practically dissolved in his mouth.
The cooling sensation continued on to his stomach. Ryl could feel the tingling slowly expand outward from his gut, spreading throughout his core, before stretching outward until it covered his entire body.
The feeling was comforting, the pain in his ribs and his difficulty breathing forgotten by the calming chill that filled him. The forest was silent. The forest was still, as if holding its breath in anticipation. For a moment, Ryl’s wet, raspy, rapid breath was the only sound to break the silence.
From deep within his chest, the beating of his heart sounded out its cadence, quiet at first but quickly increasing in volume. The thumping that sounded in his ears crescendoed until it was deafening. Ryl could feel the beat of his heart, faintly at first. It, too, intensified until every beat radiated through his body, shaking the ground beneath him. The forest trembled along with the rhythm of his heart.
From his feet, the tingling sensation began to trace its way up his body using his bones as a map. While not painful, it was an unnerving feeling, as if Ryl could feel the outline of every bone as it traveled up his legs, past his hips to his spine. As it moved further up his body, it left a hale and rejuvenated feeling in its wake.
It wasn’t long after the sensation began tracing his ribs that the unnatural feeling changed. Until now, as the sensation had passed, Ryl had felt better than ever. As the sensation traveled through his ribcage continuing toward his neck, the veil over the pain it had been masking was removed without warning. The pain that washed over his ribs was intense, made worse in comparison to the feeling of perfection spreading as the tingling finished tracing the rest of his skeleton. Through the pain, Ryl began to understand the true extent of his injuries. The kick to his body had broken several ribs, puncturing his lungs.
Ryl was still struggling for breath as the sensation completed the circuit of his body. Almost immediately, a feeling of warmth began spreading through his shattered ribs. The temperature increased to an agonizing burning. Ryl’s body went rigid with the pain. The white hot searing increased as the pieces of his ribs began repositioning themselves in their rightful positions. He could feel every inch of the bone as it slowly tore its way back out of his lungs.
As if being melted together by a blacksmith’s fire, Ryl could feel the bones merging together. He felt the wound to his lungs cauterize by the inferno that was raging inside his chest. A sudden impulse struck him and he surged forward from where he was sitting propped against the tree, landing on his hands and knees. A thick stream of blood forced its way out of his mouth and nose as his lungs contracted, forcing out the fluid that had been choking him.
Crawling far enough to avoid the puddle of blood that stained the pristine grass carpet, Ryl collapsed to the ground, coughing as he cleared the last of the blood from his lungs. As the coughing fit passed, he rolled to his back inhaling deeply and letting out a long slow breath.
There was no pain.
His breaths came easy and regular.
The feeling of rejuvenation that had permeated the rest of his body now filled him as a whole. Ryl closed his eyes, radiating a sincere feeling of gratitude to the Erlyn. She had saved his life again. He noted that the worry and urgency he had felt earlier were now gone.
A second feeling tugged at his awareness. It was a feeling that he had grown to treasure, grown accustomed to during his cycles in The Stocks. The warmth, the welcome. The realization dawned on him. This was the feeling Da’agryn had described, the feeling that identifies and connects the tributes, the phrenics. His eyes were closed. Yet through the blackness, a soft golden light was growing from the bottom of his eyelids.
His eyes snapped open.
He wasn’t alone.
22
Before his eyes could readjust to the light, Ryl had already gained his footing. He blinked twice, rubbing his eyes with his forearm to make sure his eyes weren’t playing a trick on him. Standing before the tree was a specter of a man, body and clothing perfectly detailed yet seemingly made of translucent shades of yellow and gold. Its body glowed slightly in the shade of the small tree.
The apparition standing before him appeared to be a man wearing the traditional cloak of a phrenic. The cloak was pulled back off his left arm revealing a simple, yet intricate design running from his shoulder to his wrist.
His oblong face was clean-shaven, his mouth turned up in a small smile. His wavy hair was parted to the side and stopped before his chin. His hair and cloak were jostled mildly by a ghostly breeze that only they could feel. The air in the tree’s interior was still.
The most striking feature, however, was his eyes. They were expressive, burning with a determined fire that bored into Ryl. The eyes stared into his for a long moment, as if appraising him. Ryl forced himself to maintain eye contact, endeavoring to match the determined stare.
The man blinked, nodded slightly and taking a slow step forward. Ryl took an involuntary step backward as he approached. Seeing this, that specter stopped, calmly crossing his hands behind his back.
“My name is Caprien. It is an honor to meet you.” The voice was rich and full of life, altogether incongruous to the ethereal figure standing before him.
“I've waited a long time for this moment,” he continued. “That the Erlyn chose to bring you to me, means you have proven your worth. A life, well worth saving, and a debt fulfilled.”
“Thank you for saving me,” Ryl confessed, confused. “A debt fulfilled? I don't understand.”
“If you will,” Caprien replied as he took a step closer, “allow me to show you.”
Ryl nodded his acceptance.
Caprien stopped in front of Ryl, just inside of arm’s reach. He raised his left arm slowly, palm facing Ryl's chest, closed his eyes and pressed his hand against Ryl's chest.
The initial shock jolted Ryl. A flare of white light filled his vision.
Ryl was in motion as the blinding white light cleared. The scene around him was utter chaos. In all directions, a veritable sea of abominations, skin so dark red it appeared nearly black, covered the land, jostling for position as they swarmed toward him. Armed with every manner of weapon, they approached in uncoordinated waves. The Outland Horde.
His movements were not his own.
He ducked a spiked mace as it sailed over his head. The wind from its passing wafted the stench of
death into his nostrils. Pivoting to the spear aimed directly at his abdomen, he brought the blade in his left hand down on the shaft of the spear, neatly shearing it in two. The identical blade in his other hand lashed out, severing the neck of one of his attackers, sending a spray of thick, black blood into the face of the second. Bringing his arms together like a scissor, he severed both hand and head of the second attacker who was wiping his face, momentarily blinded by the spray of blood. The displaced head hadn’t reached the ground before he engaged the next attacker.
The speed and agility of his attacks were shocking. Every motion flowed together with a fluid grace he could neither follow nor comprehend. Although not in control, Ryl felt every action as if it were his own. He barely noticed the weight of the strange matching blades in his hands. They felt as if they were a natural extension of his arms.
The wooden handles were the length of his forearm holding blades of roughly the same length in the shape of long thin leaves. The blades were partially translucent and shimmered with a green fire, their intricate design anything but fragile. The veins that fanned out across the blade were clearly defined, shining brighter than the blade itself, ending in a razor-sharp points along the blade’s edges.
Screams of bloodlust mingled with ear-piercing shrieks of pain. The sound of metal on metal mixed with the chilling snapping of bone. The air was a putrid collection of smells, blood and death combined into a noxious aroma. The ground was littered with bodies in various states of death. Some crushed, some severed, others burned, yet others still wailed while they writhed in agony, waiting for death’s cold embrace.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ryl witness other phrenics, capes billowing out behind them, all dealing death in disproportionate numbers. Ryl moved with viscous-like agility, dodging blow after blow, severing limbs, heads and weapons with every strike. To his right a mountain of a man hefted a warhammer nearly as large as himself with deadly efficiency. Any who came within his weapon’s radius were soon crushed under the hammer’s unimaginable force.
To his left, a warrior with sword and shield, parried, blocked and countered with unmatched speed and precision. Every thrust pierced an enemy, incoming blows blocked perfectly into his foe’s companions.
The same story played out along the entirety of the circular outer line of the phrenics’ position. The pile of dead grew steadily, the ground slick with gore as the outnumbered, but far superior fighters deftly handled their foes.
The interior of the circle was no less deadly. The unmolested phrenic elementalists attacked with terrifying force and power the horde could neither counter nor defend. Balls of fire left arcing trails of smoke as they screamed into the enemy’s midst, explosions incinerating all those within range. Lightning bolts launched from their hands with pinpoint precision, shredding through multiple foes. The ground heaved and buckled, turning the stumbling horde into easy targets.
The circle had been steadily creeping backward toward the forest behind them. Ryl recognized the feeling of the Erlyn instantly, although the surrounding terrain was unfamiliar.
A horn sounded from behind. With ease, he separated himself from his foe. All along the line, phrenics made space between themselves and their attackers. Another horn sounded, followed quickly by a third. Ryl dropped to a knee.
For a moment, the sky above went dark. The high pitch whistle of a wave of arrows sailed over the group. Ryl knew most of the arrows would find their marks. The cries of agony from the horde confirmed his expectation.
They had reached the border of the forest. The planned retreat now formed a half-circle as the battle waged all along their line. A massive push came from the horde, numbers too great for the phrenic warriors to sustain. Ryl was separated from the group as the hand of a dying horde grasped his ankle, wrenching him off balance.
Ryl watched in slow motion as the jagged sword entered his belly, exiting through his back.
The pain was intense. His daggers didn't cease their counter, quickly severing the arm holding the sword in his belly, followed by the head. Two phrenics flashed in front of him, fighting headlong into the impossible numbers of the horde. Ryl screamed aloud in a voice not his own. He felt the agony in its tone.
He knew their names, Eroh and Kailid. He knew them well. He felt the grief in his heart as he watched them be overrun and torn to pieces at the hands of the horde.
Strong hands pulled him backward, only a few paces remained before the woods. The phrenic line melted into the Erlyn. The pursuing horde didn't follow.
All went black.
Ryl's vision returned. The canopy of the woods above was passing slowly overhead. His movement was limited to his eyes. The rest of his body felt like stone. Only through effort could he muster a small wiggle from his fingers. Ryl looked around frantic. He was being carried on a litter. He could see the back of the phrenic carrying the front. The sword that had impaled him still remained.
He strained to move. A face leaned over into view, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Cass. She was young. Even after her talents awoke, she had chosen to remain a simple farm girl. Caring and compassionate, she could nurture the land in ways few else could, growing all manner of crops in areas where none had grown before. She also happened to be one of the finest marksmen in all the land, taking up Taben’s call for aid without hesitation.
“Lie still, Caprien, we’re almost there,” Cass said softly, leaving her hand resting on his shoulder. Ryl’s vision faded into blackness.
He blinked, trying to clear the blurred picture before his eyes. His eyelids felt heavy and he struggled to keep them open. Ryl was lying on his back looking up from the center of a large hollow tree. He recognized the location immediately. Cass and a small group of others were kneeling down around him, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Caprien, can you hear me?” Cass asked gently, leaning closer.
“Aye, Cass,” Ryl responded in a voice that was not his own. “I can barely move. How bad is it?”
“No, Caprien, lie still.” Cass choked out the response, tears welling up in the corner of her eyes. “I’m afraid it’s bad. The sword is the only thing keeping you alive. It must have severed your spine. If we remove it, you’ll bleed out.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. A single tear rolled down her cheek, falling onto Ryl’s face.
“It’s all right, Cass,” he said, acknowledging the truth of the situation. “Where are we now?”
“You don’t remember?” she asked. “After they pulled you back into the woods, you were pleading with the Erlyn to help. She led us here.”
It took but a moment for Ryl to accept his fate. He had lived a good life, a productive life. He rose to the call to help when few others would lift a finger. Why did Eroh and Kailid have to die trying to save him? He would give anything to have stopped their sacrifices.
He knew there was no bringing back the dead. If, somehow, he was able to save the lives of others, he would give his life to make it so.
“Cass, where are my Leaves?” Ryl asked, voice growing weaker by the moment.
“They’re in your hand, Caprien,” Cass said through her tears. “Where they belong.”
She lifted his limp left arm so that he could see his fist closed tightly around the two ironwood sticks.
The Leaves had returned to their dormant form and were, by all appearances, a set of plain sticks, worn by frequent use. Ryl had seen first-hand the awesome power they possessed.
“Thank you, Cass,” he whispered.
He closed his eyes and took a deep steadying breath.
“Erlyn, let their sacrifices be not in vain,” he announced in a voice that filled the hollowed out tree, booming through the forest. With every word, he poured his feeling out to the woods.
“Let me remain in this spot until my debt has been repaid,” he continued, pouring his emotion out with every word. “Two died so that I could live. Let those in dire need return here. Let me be the elixir for their survival until my oath is fulfill
ed.”
With every ounce of willpower and remaining strength, he lifted his right arm, grasping the hilt of the sword protruding from his stomach, tearing it out of his body.
His arm and sword fell limp to the ground. Cass struggled to stop the flow of blood, tears streaming down her face.
“No, Cass. I’m ready.” His voice was no more than a breath. Blood streamed freely from the holes in his stomach and back. A chill was setting into his body.
His eyes focused on the clear sky above. Ryl watched as a small object floated downward, blown in on the breeze. His eyesight failing, he followed its descent toward him, yet he couldn’t make out what it was. Cass followed his gaze skyward, lifting her hand and gently cradling the falling object.
Through her tears, she smiled, holding her catch so that he could see it. In her hand was a small seed the shape of a teardrop, a small stem with two thin leaves sprouted from its top.
“Fitting, it’s an ironwood seed,” she whispered, her voice growing faint as his vision grew dark. “The Erlyn heard you, Caprien.”
Blackness set in once again.
Ryl opened his eyes to a similar scene, although he knew at once the difference. His body felt cushioned by the thick grass. He ran his hands out to the sides letting them slide over the top of the soft, green blanket. The air was fresh, yet the lingering stench of death remained in the recesses of his consciousness.
Ryl sat up, surveying the scene around him. Caprien was standing with his back to him, facing the tree, arms crossed behind his back. The tree was now a dark shade of grey, its smooth bark now cracked and brittle. The circular canopy of leaves at the top was nothing more than a shriveled collection of dark crimson leaves.
