by C. J. Aaron
The tree was dying.
Rising swiftly, he approached the older phrenic slightly off his right shoulder. The skin on the left side of Ryl's chest began to itch, much like the itching of newly healing skin. He reached his right hand across his body to appease the feeling, gasping aloud as he felt the raised skin underneath his light shirt. Caprien turned his head in Ryl’s direction at the sound.
He stretched out the neck of his shirt to inspect his chest. The black outline of a hand was tattooed on his skin where Caprien’s hand had touched him. The fingers were solid black, separated from the palm by a thin strip of clear skin. The palm was shaded black around a circular design that dominated the majority of the interior.
On closer inspection, the circle was comprised of six consecutive rings around a solid black centerpoint. An intricate pattern of straight lines and right angles made up each ring, although none of the boarding rings lined up.
“What did you do to me?” Ryl asked softly.
“That is called a mark of transference,” Caprien stated bluntly, his voice now airy and quiet. “In my time, I was an expert in the agile subtype of the physical sect. You witnessed first-hand my motions. Whatever skill I still possess is now yours.”
Ryl shot Caprien a confused look.
“You felt what it was like to move in my body,” he continued. “You will need to call on that memory to learn for yourself. The ability is there. When it's time, the blood will know what to do.”
Ryl opened his mouth to ask a question. Caprien turned his head, staring longingly at the tree. A leaf broke off from the small canopy, falling slowly, dissolving into thin air before reaching the ground.
“Every variation of the physical sects are matched with a specific weapon,” Caprien stated, his voice now a whisper. “The weapons have been handed down to another within the same sect throughout the ages by means of a transference. They will serve the call of one master at a time.”
Caprien stepped forward, placing a hand on each of the two haggard branches close to the trunk of the withering tree. The remaining leaves on the branches broke off, disintegrating into nothing as they fell toward the ground. He bowed his head slightly as he pulled outward with each hand.
The branches separated cleanly and silently from the trunk, sprouting their identical shimmering green blades as they slid out from the tree. The leaf-shaped blades faded away as quickly as they appeared and the barren twigs that capped each end fell off as Caprien twirled them effortlessly in each hand.
“The Leaves are now yours,” he whispered. “Although not yet awoken, you now represent the last of the agile sect. Once you learn to harness that skill, the Leaves will be forever at your command.”
Caprien turned to Ryl, reverently placing the two identical wooden shafts into his outstretched hands.
“Thank you,” Ryl proffered, at a loss for words. “I will ever endeavor to live to your example, though I fear I will fall short of your skills.”
“Do not fret, young one,” Caprien whispered reassuringly. “Not all skills are automatic. They weren’t for me, nor for the masters before me.”
Caprien looked closely at Ryl.
“The penchant for learning is there,” he said, pointing at Ryl’s head then heart. “Whether you possess the strength of will to work to master them, that is a question only you can answer.”
Caprien again turned back toward the tree as the last of the leaves fell from the once green canopy. He bowed his head, resting it gently on the rough bark of the trunk.
“A debt has been fulfilled. Thank you, Erlyn,” Caprien whispered, his voice carrying away like a breeze.
“Live well, my friend.” Caprien turned his head briefly to smile at Ryl before facing the tree once more. Purposefully, he tilted his head back, arms outstretched to the sides.
A gentle breeze swelled inside the hollowed out tree, circling from the outer wall to the center where it lifted straight upward. Caprien's cloak rustled noiselessly in the wind. The top of the tree began to splinter, crumbling to dust, swirling skyward in a vertical column until it disappeared into the sky.
Once the process started, the tree disintegrated more rapidly. In turn, the translucent figure of Caprien began undergoing the same process, as tree and man turned to dust to be carried off by the wind.
A few moments later, both were gone, the wind following the last speck of dust skyward. Only a small bare patch of earth remained where the tree had once stood.
Ryl bowed his head in remembrance, silently thanking both Caprien and the Erlyn. He looked down in awe at the Leaves in his hands. With a final bow of his head, he turned, collected his small pack and bucket, and left the hollow tree.
23
Ryl connected with the Erlyn as he left the hollowed out trunk. The road through the Erlyn was deserted. He opened a pathway that would deposit him close to the end of the road bordering to the orchard. The pair of activities left him feeling drained and winded. He paused to catch his breath.
The sun had already passed midday. He had now fallen further behind on his assigned task. He would have to work quickly to make up for lost time. Spending another night in the stockade was not a punishment he desired to repeat.
The last several days’ worth of experiences had filled his head with more questions. He longed for the peace to contemplate the answers. Since leaving Quinlen at the Stillwater camp, his life had consisted of momentous event after event, never allowing him pause to collect his thoughts. He hungered for a decent night's rest.
Although his tattered clothing was now dry, he happily changed into the new pair the benevolent guard had snuck into his pack. Ryl was hungry, so he devoured a self-rationed portion of the extra food he had been given.
His hunger temporarily satiated, he marveled at how physically refreshed he was after the morning’s ordeal. He had been on the brink of death, had died in the body of a phrenic from over a thousand cycles ago, then fully rejuvenated in a matter of minutes. His mind struggled to make sense of the drastic and sudden changes.
The thought of the battle terrified him. The memory was too realistic. He could feel the wet splatter of blood on his face, the cries of hatred and agony still rang in his ears. He marveled at the strength of the phrenics that stood defiant in the face of such insurmountable odds. Not only had they stood their ground, their skills were unmatched, the devastation they wrought was on a scale he couldn't fathom.
The phrenic name and any mention of their abilities had been scrubbed from the records of history. He could see now that the myths he had learned as a child of Taben's army where rooted in fact. Ryl couldn't help but feel a tinge of regret that Taben, who was supposedly the most capable of them all, had been absent from those memories.
The path Ryl had been walking ended in a hidden intersection with the main road. Cautiously stepping out from the path, he heard the telltale rustle of the entrance closing behind him. The exit to the Erlyn was right before him. Beyond, he could see the orchard and his work assignment to the right of the road. The river, still swollen, churned along the eastern edge.
Ryl quickly made his way into the orchard to begin the arduous task ahead. The orchard spanned a dozen rows that ran perpendicular to the road. Each row was nearly a mile long. Ryl shuddered at the task ahead of him as he made his way between the first set of trees.
Each tree was approximately ten paces in height, their thick trunks dividing at around the height of his chest, spreading out into several smaller branches. There was no way Ryl could shake the tree as a whole, so he carefully packed the Leaves into his pack, placing that and the bucket at the base of the tree.
Tree climbing had never been his forte. Ever since his fall from the tree as a child, he had a healthy respect for the wooden giants, leaving them well alone. There were times when he had climbed trees for one reason or another, but gone was the carefree attitude of a child. Each foothold was carefully planned, his weight tested on each branch before making his way higher.
&nbs
p; Without thinking, Ryl took several steps back giving himself enough room to gain speed. He lunged forward, leaping at the last moment, placing his right foot on a small knot about waist height. Pushing off with his foot, he launched himself outward grabbing ahold of a branch with both hands, easily swinging himself up and over, landing straddling the branch. It took a moment for his mind to catch up to the actions that had just occurred.
Cycles of hard labor in the fields had left him with a strong, athletic physique. His natural strength was more than capable for the maneuvers he had just performed. The shock to him was that these were actions he never would have dreamed of attempting. The movements felt like second nature to him, as if he had been practicing them for cycles. Ryl ran his fingers over the slightly protruding tattoo over his left breast.
Agile.
Ryl laughed at himself at the thought of the phrenics of old, of Caprien, using their heightened powers to shake infested fruit out of a tree. He shifted his weight enough to jostle the branch, a single infested fruit dropped to the ground. He looked around noting the amount of fruit that had already fallen, apparent victims of the storm that raged through just a few days past.
Ryl easily swung himself from branch to branch, stopping to give each a good shake in turn. As he went, he made a cursory inspection to the remaining fruit for sign of the moths. Few infested fruit remained in the tree, the majority lay withering on the ground below.
The afternoon wore on quickly as Ryl repeated the process from tree to tree in the first two rows. The work was slow going and tiring. His muscles burned from the exertion of clambering up and down the trees, yet reacted with the agility of one who had been practicing this action for cycles.
The sun was dipping further down in the sky as Ryl descended from his last tree of the day. He’d cleared only a dozen trees in the short time he had available due to the turbulent events of the morning. This was a miniscule fraction of the total of the orchard. He guessed this assignment would take nearly a full moon to complete.
Now, the tedious work of collecting the moths from the infested fruit began in haste. His orders were to burn them in large piles in order to ward off others of their kind. Ryl doubted that this would have any effect, but as it was expressly ordered, he committed to the action to save himself from guaranteed punishment.
Gathering sticks and debris to start a fire was an easy proposition thanks to the damage left in the wake of the driving winds from the storm. Ryl easily started a fire in the middle of the aisle using the worn flint he had been provided by the guards. Once his blaze was established, he began feeding the moths he’d collected in the bucket into the fire. For the benefit of the guards that were inevitably watching his progress from afar, he added a few wet, living sprigs, creating a dark grey plume of smoke that rose into the sky.
Shortly after, Ryl sat back in a daze watching the small fire eat away at the wood. Thankfully, the collection of moths he’d collected had already been reduced to ash. They made a sickening popping noise and gave off a nauseating smell of death as they were incinerated in the blaze. He tossed the last morsel of food into his mouth, savoring the now clean-smelling fire.
He was tired. The heat from the blaze helped to ease some of the discomfort from his sore muscles. The warmth and quiet crackling was cathartic, lulling him into a peaceful respite, although short lived as it would be. He needed to be back in Tabenville before curfew.
The last sliver of sun had nearly disappeared behind the western palisade when Ryl rose, stamping out the remaining embers of the day’s fire. Fearful of retribution for losing the bucket, he chose to bring it back to Tabenville instead of stashing it among the trees of the orchard. Ryl grabbed the equipment and hefted the small pack over his shoulder heading toward the main road.
The uncommonly hefty weight of the pack stopped him in his tracks.
The Leaves.
His mind had been preoccupied with the task at hand in the orchard. He had entirely forgotten that they were tucked safely away in his pack. He couldn’t risk bringing them to Tabenville. As innocent and innocuous as they were with their shimmering green blades dormant, they were too valuable to risk the curiosity of an overzealous guard, or a maniacal sub-master.
Ryl reached into his bag pulling out the two lightweight sticks, considering where he could hide them as he walked quickly toward the Erlyn. Nowhere in Tabenville would be safe. He considered burying them in the orchard, but the thought of the ever-present watchful eye of the guards convinced him of the potential downfall in that plan.
He crossed the threshold into the gloom of the Erlyn and the answer became clear. Making his way past the first bend, ensuring he couldn’t be seen if any other travelers were on the road, Ryl closed his eyes, focusing his thoughts on the Erlyn. He asked for a safe place to hide the Leaves, a place where no one would find them save himself.
The mental exertion was less than he expected this time, yet he still panted to catch his breath. The strain of the day on his muscles combined with the added burden from communicating with the Erlyn had left him severely weakened. Ryl leaned against the tree for support. The woods took a moment, then responded by opening a small path leading into the depths of the forest.
Ryl exited the main path quickly, fearful of being discovered. He hadn't seen a soul throughout his shortened work day, yet he knew the guards were never far away from the orchard and main road. He could feel their malevolent, hungry eyes watching over him in all he did.
The feeling inside the Erlyn now was another story altogether. Whereas before the unease permeated every step, the woods now welcomed him with a refreshing air of calm and safety.
The path before him was narrow and dimly lit. Only the light green glow of the scattered patches of moss illuminated the walkway. The branches above virtually covered the entirety of the path forming a nearly solid arboreal tunnel. The air was still, the forest quiet. The only sounds came from the soft crunching of dried leaves underfoot as he carefully navigated the forest floor.
Ryl followed the gently winding path until it ended abruptly in another small clearing. He looked around the opening. The empty patch of forest was penned in by five large trees, their bows covered the clearing, making a crude ceiling. Like the pathway, the only light was from the moss scattered throughout the area.
Crossing from one side of the clearing to the other, Ryl noted nothing of any importance. He was seeking somewhere safe to hide the Leaves. Why then had the Erlyn brought him here? Had the forest misunderstood his intentions?
He made another circle of the small clearing. The ground was clean as if the detritus had been recently swept. Ryl circled the perimeter of the clearing studying the ground, looking for a sign of something he had missed. So intent was his focus on the ground between himself and the center of the clearing that he failed to notice the stone that his foot caught on, sending him careening forward. Ryl braced himself for the fall.
His carelessness would have normally resulted in him falling clumsily on his chest. At the last moment, Ryl dove forward, landing on the back of his right shoulder, rolling so that his momentum carried him through a somersault and back to his feet.
The unexpected agility again surprised him. His body reacted in a manner that was strangely foreign to him, as if in those situations he wasn’t completely in control of his own body. It was an uncomfortable feeling that Ryl hoped with time would fade.
Ryl looked back to at the stone that had tripped him. It was well disguised, covered in dark green moss and leaves, laying just off the side of one of the trees that formed the loose border of the clearing. If he hadn’t tripped over it, he wasn’t sure if he would have noticed it, disguised as it was.
The rock was part a small cairn that reached up to just under Ryl’s knee. Only a small portion was showing, the rest had been swallowed by the forest. He tore a small clump of glowing moss off the adjacent tree and bent down to get a closer look.
The stones varied in size, all were rounded and weathere
d and covered partially in dark green moss. Ryl was about to move on from the pile when one of the rocks caught his eye.
About halfway up the side of the pile, a single rock stood out from the others. Where the rest were natural in shape and construction, the perfectly squared off edges gave this one an unnatural look. A wave of satisfaction from the Erlyn washed over him as he reached for the stone.
He smiled as he lifted the rectangular stone from its resting place, surprised that it was much lighter than he had anticipated. The underside of the stone featured a second, slightly smaller rectangle that held it in place as it covered the small, concealed cavity.
Ryl’s heart raced in anticipation as he shined the light of the moss toward the cache, eager to discover what treasures could have been left behind. The soft green light illuminated the interior of the compartment, only a grey garment of some type lay folded neatly at the bottom.
Resting the moss aside, Ryl carefully pulled the cloth out of the cache. He expected it to crumble away to dust, as it was most likely left behind by one of the last free phrenics. Perhaps even earlier than that. The texture of the cloth surprised him as he stood, letting it unroll with him. In his hands was a hooded cloak with a high neck and right arm removed at the shoulder.
There was no doubt as to the original owner, it was phrenic. Subconsciously looking around, as if making sure no one was watching, Ryl slipped the cloak on, pulling the hood up over his head. The lightweight fabric was soft, belying its true age. Somehow, wearing the cloak felt right, as if it belonged to him all along.
Shrugging off the feeling, Ryl moved carefully around the clearing. The cloak flowed with him as if it were an extension of his body. It fit as if it had been tailored to him. He reached into his pack withdrawing the Leaves, holding each in one hand.
The Leaves flared to life, shimmering green blades lit the clearing. Startled, Ryl fell back into an unfamiliar stance, legs spread shoulder-width apart, slightly bent, left foot ahead of the right. He was on the balls of his feet, legs coiled like springs, eager to explode into action. Shimmering blades in hand, his arms were out in front of him, ready to either defend or attack.
