Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3), C.J. Aaron [book recommendations .TXT] 📗

The floor was clear of debris, though thin clouds of mist drifted along the edges. Ahead, a clearing appeared, washed with the light from the late afternoon sun.

Kaep and Andr's eyes went wide at the sight of the altered pathway before them. Their looks of wonder, however, were tinged with an air of resignation. They'd grown strangely accustomed to the miracles that had presented themselves thus far.

The form of Da'agryn in the lead seemed to meld with the ground at his feet. It was as if his motion was a wave that passed along the forest floor. With every fluid step his figure became increasingly more wraithlike. His image took on the translucent quality of Caprien and the phrenics that had appeared during Ryl’s awakening.

The alexen.

The pathway ended abruptly in a clearing. It took Ryl but a moment to recognize where the avenue had brought them. It was a location that was forever etched into his mind.

It was the heart of the Erlyn.

The small glade was carpeted in a blanket of lush green grass, ringed by a wall of trees and bramble. The area pulsed with life. He felt the palpable thrum of the heartbeat of the forest. Unlike his first visit, he was keenly aware of the blemishes that marred the tips of the slender blades of grass. The gaps in the underwood felt far more open than he'd remembered, giving the distinct impression that he was staring into the very soul of the forest.

Adjacent from the exit of the path, a massive tree stood, its expansive trunk wrapped in thick vines. Ryl and his companions paused while Da'agryn continued to the edge of the tree.

Ryl had only seen this area of the woods on a single occasion. A momentous event in which the Erlyn gifted him the woodskin as well as the connection and the power to control the woods themselves. He felt the beating of the pulse of the forest thump under his feet. The sensation was amplified far beyond that which he'd recalled. Still, he could sense the weariness of the ancient woods.

Da'agryn turned back toward Ryl and the party, breaking the momentary silence as all took in the sight at hand.

"There is little time left for words," Da'agryn's voice carried around the small clearing on a light rush of air that circled the expanse. "There is little assistance that we can provide over the coming days. The weight of defense will rest not only on the backs of the phrenics. Those with and without the gift of alexen will have their roles to play."

His ethereal arm extended outward, the tattoos on his skin a blur of motion. His hand pointed directly toward Andr.

"Come forward," he beckoned in a voice that was compassionate yet broached no retort. "You are to be given a boon the likes of which has never before been granted. Not in all of history has the Erlyn chosen to connect with one not of phrenic descent."

Andr stepped forward, though there was a look of confusion written across his face.

"I am honored by the gift," the mercenary replied with a small nod of supplication. "What is the boon I am to receive?"

"That is for the woods to decide," Da'agryn answered.

The elder phrenic motioned for Andr to follow as he led him to the side of the massive tree. Ryl couldn't help but flinch as he watched Da'agryn lead his friend toward the small gap between the winding vines. Though it appeared to be nothing more than a darkened shadow from where he stood, a glimmer of light flickered from its interior as the beams of sunlight from above reflected off the viscous liquid inside. The tip of the lone thorn on the edge of the vine that lined the base of the opening stood as a painful reminder of what was to befall his friend.

Andr hesitated as he reached his hand toward the opening in the tree. His fist hovered over the spike as he craned his neck, turning his head, meeting eyes with Ryl. Ryl smiled at his friend, sending a wave of calm to still Andr's fraying nerves.

With a quick flash of a grin, nothing more than a rapid tugging up on the corner of his lips, Andr turned his head back to the tree with a shrug of his shoulders. His hand slammed down on the spike with enough force to draw blood before he thrust his finger into the liquid of the tree’s interior.

Ryl guessed that his reaction was likely to have been similar. He watched as Andr stepped back, shaking his hand as the gelatinous liquid forced its way into the pinprick in his finger. The wound splayed outward; his hands swelled with the addition of the substance. Ryl could see the bone of his index finger as the liquid forced its way inside.

As it moved up his arm, Andr turned his head back toward Ryl. The mercenary’s face—which normally exuded an air of confidence—was morphed into a look of utter panic. He opened his mouth to scream. No sound escaped his lips. All Ryl could do to help his friend was push a wave of calm and comfort over his addled body.

The process from that point was rapid. What had seemed like an eternity when he had gone through the process himself was over in a few short moments. Ryl understood all too well the brutal, intense pain that his friend had just been subjected to. He watched with wonder as the mercenary's skin took on a crusty, bark-like appearance before fading back into his normal tanned flesh.

As the last of his skin returned to normal, the agony that held his body in place released its hold. The mercenary toppled to the ground with a soundless thump.

Ryl was at his side in an instant; their eyes met as Andr blinked away the tears.

"What’s happened to me?" Andr's voice was raspy as if he hadn't uttered a sound in cycles.

"The woodskin," Ryl responded as his eyes traveled toward